14th August 2008
Oh no, it's Thursday. Time for my second physio appointment. French physiotherapy or kinestherapie, as it's called here, is conducted in private rooms, not within hospitals. Patients call up and make appointments themselves, then proffer the ubiquitous carte vitale after treatment. I was really nervous the first time, as the following will reveal. So, for those of a similarly nervous disposition, look away now. I arrived in good time after parking the car by a strange family of French holidaymakers who had decided to set up their table and partake of their lunch right by the side of the road! C'est la France. I rang the bell and entered, nearly falling down the huge stone step which all village houses seem to have. On opening the door, you must then step down....perhaps it's a way of getting more patients, I thought... Inside was an array of implements enough to impress the Inquisition: wall racks, screws, ropes, bars....and that was only the waiting room. Eventually the physio entered. Bonjour Madame. Firm handshake, as you'd expect, leading me to the point of no return. After scanning my x-rays and tutting his disapproval, he started with a massage of my offending shoulder. I relaxed. This was O.K. after all. But then the pulling started, teasing my arm further and further away from my body each time. I'm sure my left arm is now longer than the right, I told him indoors afterwards. Did he say 'this will hurt?' he enquired. Well, yes, I replied. Ah, said he. That'll be when he was about to present his bill.