So I shall be continuing with that strategy and I will try not to get out. Not quite yet anyway.
In my last mini-post I gave my eager reader the opportunity to contact me. So yesterday I got an email asking how the furry invalid was. I stupidly assumed that they were asking after me until I read it again and realised that I am not in the least bit furry. There was clearly only one explanation (I've been watching Sherlock intently you see...), they were asking after my dog. Well it was kind of them to ask, BUT WHAT ABOUT ME? HUH?!!
Well I am pleased to report that Brody our dog is getting much better thank you. After a few days when he became some sort of schizophrenic monster he seems to have turned a corner and his good-natured dopeyness has once again come to the fore. But I must say it's kind of nice to have another invalid around the place. I mean that in the nicest possible way.Here is a photo of his leg for your delectation. I note with some guilty satisfaction that his stitches are nowhere near as neat as mine. Now I told him that he should go to David Harrison but he ignored my advice. He's a very stubborn mutt.
But to his credit he is already significantly faster around the house than me, despite the fact that he is missing the use of one of his legs. That makes me feel a bit rubbish really. He can also still cock his bad leg on a lamppost or a suitable shrub. I've not tried that one yet but i'm pretty sure I would struggle with that too.
The only problem when I take him out for a little walk (or as it is currently known the three legged hop) is that I have to make sure that I walk on the right hand side of the road. That way his bad leg (which is his hind right leg) is nearest to the bushes. So when he wants to relieve himself he can happily cock his bad leg in the traditional manner.
But if I make the schoolboy mistake of walking on the left hand side of the road then his good leg is nearest the bushes. So when he wants to cock his leg he ponders his dilemma for a moment but bizarrely seems to believe that he will be able to balance on two legs, and pee at the same time. So he continues to give it a go and tries to lift his good back leg only to realise once it's in mid air that his bad back leg is already suspended in the air...so suddenly he is basically doing a handstand. Uh oh.
Now some smart ass dogs seem to have actually perfected this art. What a bloody show off.
Anyway the admirable way that Brody has dealt with his injury has got me thinking that dogs don't have an army of therapists that they can consult when something goes wrong...well at least the ones outside of California I mean. They just have to get on with it, however bad their problem is. And generally speaking they do a damn good job of it too. When Brody ruptured his cruciate ligament within 5 minutes he was desperately trying to chase the squirrels again, despite one of his legs pretty much hanging off. Bonkers but impressive.
In comparison I was thinking today about all of the people that I went to see in the last 6 years to try and make my back better. The list is frankly ridiculous and makes me realise just how desperate I was. So here are the ones that immediately spring to mind. I know there are others but I just can't think of their names they are so damn obscure.
Chiropractor
Osteopath
Reflexologist
Nutritionist
Massage therapist
Acupuncturist
Cranial therapist
Homeopath
Physiotherapist
Hypnotherapist
Independent Financial Advisor
The last one on that list I visited to try to work out how I was going to manage to pay for all the others. Because goddamn it the fees really do add up. I hate to think how much I spent over the 6 years. I could probably have bought a sensible family car, with comfortable seats of course.
Now don't get me wrong I am not demeaning these professions at all. And I know that some of these certainly seemed to do me some good, even if it was only temporary or even just in the mind. But in the end they couldn't cure me because I had a problem that simply wasn't going to get better. It was like I was trying to stop a very slow runaway train, it was a valiant effort but ultimately futile.
But perhaps I had to go through that long and at times immensely frustrating experience of seeking a 'cure' to finally come to the realisation that actually there really wasn't one, and that my appointment with David Harrison was basically the last chance saloon.
And perhaps that is what makes how I feel now, so so sweet. Because if it had been easier maybe I wouldn't fully appreciate just how good it is to be pain free. And dare I say it...ok I'll whisper it....cured. Maybe. Possibly. Hopefully. Cured.
I'm like a dog with a huge bone. Very fucking content. Yep.
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