RELAX!!!!

It used to be my opinion that I was calm and relaxed and pretty chill in general. However, the ongoing internal cobustion of my back, my joints, my patience, and my tolerance levels towards unruly children and cats who attempt to cover up their pretty crockery food dishes after eating does seem to perhaps indicate otherwise. Obviously, I have been engaged in quite a high level of self-delusion.

Fortunately, the National Health Service has agreed to provide services of a therapeutic and healing nature. This makes me relatively happy since, despite not being a citizen, I am worthy to receive something for the nearly £700 per month which is thoughtfully extracted from my paycheck. Presumably they don't want to overburden my already traumatised back with the weight.

So, after a considerate referral from my GP (at The Mulbarton Surgery), I have been to the physiotherapist five or six times now. Of course, the physiotherapist is in Wymondham (pronounced 'Wind-umm'), which is possibly the most awkward location to reach either to or from the Main Road in Swardeston OR from The University of Easy Acronyms (UEA) if one does not drive. Normal bus tickets are not good enough (one must invest in a £4.70 day pass, which makes one want to just ride around on the bus and judge -- or not. Especially if one is trying to be more charitable to the cretins surrounding one.) since Wye-mond-ham is apparently in the outer zone of Norwich Worst -- oops, I mean First -- Bus system.

After my first encounter with the physio -- a lovely person named Jane -- she either thought I was neurotic, a victim of muscular hypochondria (possibly requiring NHS psychotherapy), or a severely broken person. Now she is aware that she beheld a trinity.

On one's first -- or in my case, one's first and second -- visit(s), one has what is called a 'triage' appointment. This is where they go through all the aches and pains of things that you, in your feebly deluded state, might think are wrong with you. They ask you to tell them whether the pain in ________ region is constant, periodic, or infrequent and then to rate the pain on a scale of 1 to 10.

They refuse to explain this rating scale. Is it on a scale of 1 to 10 of what i can bear before I lay writhing on the floor next to the washing machine crying and singing Edith Piaf songs; or is it on a scale of 1 to 10 of how painful it has ever been; or is it on a scale of 1 to 10 of whether I believe it is possible to have a stiff upper lip and Keep Calm and Carry On without resorting to surgery? What is this scale business?

Based on one's completely flawed scaling of the pain, they draw little coloured sections on the part of the diagram person on the computer. Yellow means numbness; cerulean means scrintchety periodic pain (apparently); pink means you are messed up. My little diagram has an entirely pink back with blue polka-dots, and a little yellow streak going down the right leg (and NO! This does not have anything to do with wet pants. Ahem... Rude.). Poor Jane.

Apparently, your correspondent who spends 120,000 miles a year in the air, and most of the rest of the time sitting on her haunches has a condition called 'Hypermobility Syndrome'. I am quite appalled to have a label, but maybe it will be good for me; I could get a nametag: 'Hello! My name is Anne-Marie, but you can call me Gumby!' On the bright side, the x-rays for which I was zapped in December happen to show an absence of slipped discs or anything pinched, so no incisionary activity close to My Spine is imminent (this is good, particularly in light of my inexplicable fear of deathly punctures in my person -- well, other than shots in the arm. I'm not a complete chicken.). On the negative side, my job is sedentary. Hypermobile people need to move alot (ahem -- it seems a good time to perhaps point out that it was not hyperactivity in my childhood; it was my syndrome. My body knew that it needed to move incessantly...). Because my body languishes in front of a computer all day and a good portion of the evening (when it functions -- the computer, not my body), my muscles are no longer managing my hypermobile connection points and the joints are mad. So I hurt. My back is pink with blue polka dots. And I have a yellow streak down my right leg (AGAIN... NO snickering. How childish. *rolls eyes*)

I am meant to do stretchy exercises and retrain my nerves. I should really do them more often (instead of sitting in front of a computer -- oops), but I am getting pretty good at regular stretching in the ladies room at work. The shelf on the wall next to the hand drier makes a lovely support bar and one can also do pushups agains the wall -- whilst beadily watching the door for approaching shadows, at which point you have to shove yourself speedily away from the wall, simultaneously pivoting on heels as if heading for door, and pretend to have been using completely silent hand drier. This is definitely a skill worth honing; I expect to have upper arms like Courtney Cox by March.

In addition to my Bendy Bruner-Tracey (BBT) regimen, Lovely Jane recommended acupuncture. For a person with a morbid fear of punctures, this was a big step. After all, haven't we all heard about people who have an acupuncture needle emerge from their foot 4 years after having a treatment in their eyelids or something? I was brave. The needles were small. And the first two treatments really relieved quite a bit of pain in my back.


Until this past week, when I had to go 2 weeks between treatments. And then I had a nerve completely freak out in my big toe -- it is a long story. No doubt many of you can look forward to long evenings with a lovely shiraz while I detail the agony of a mysterious feeling of shards of glass living inside my toe rather than the lovely bones which ought to be there. Copious amounts of Vitamin B (gracias a los parentes) seems to be helping. And then my back decided to relapse and go all Octogenarian on me on Saturday whilst doing laundry.

However, the whole scintillating Shards-of-Glass feeling which has persisted over the past week (but very strangely only with downward pressure, such as a blanket during SleepyTime) had me a little leery today. Jane decided that it was most probably coincidental, this dramatic Shards of Glass thing; she bent my phalanges and metatarsals, this a-way and that. And no radiating shocks of pain. None atall. Until she decided that we should start with that particular needle... next to my big toe.


Today was absolutely pitiful. I wept. Snot ran from my nosey to the floor through the little hole where they put your head so's you won't suffocate on the relaxation table.

The weeping and gnashing of teeth did not stem from the big toe one needle; I was braver than that. Just nearly reflexed her in the face -- oopsy. No. It was the building up, I think. When you (or maybe just I) am/are supposed to relax, my brain kind of goes into 'MUST RELAX!' , *...am-i-relaxed-enough-yet?*, 'NO! MUST RELAX!!!' hyper-repetition syndrome mode. And pretty much everything just flipping does the opposite. 

One of my most significant spot of tension, which is most-of-the-time invisible, non-painful and completely menacing, is on either side of my spine, about 3 inches below my shoulder blades. If this area has any sort of pressure applied, I cannot help it: spasms and convulsive twitching results. And I flee, if possible. (This is in no way a recommendation as potential amusement to so-called 'friends' during social and cultural outings. Obviously, this is a little more explanation than some people might have needed, but how else are we to be honest with each other if not broadcasting to the whole webernet-connected ribbon of civilisation? No. Seriously; do not try this -- I might have to get mediaeval on yo' ____.)

Being unable to flee, and with an indeterminate number of needles in my back (actually there were 22), weeping was my only resort. But I told her to keep going... Keep Calm and Carry On! However, the whole situation was worsened by the pinching that the tension in my muscles was making where the needles had already gone in. And then, Poor Jane hit several capillaries -- which hurt like crap. And made me twitch, which tensed my muscles, which made the needles hurt, which made me cry (and produce snot, which was unreachable due to arms flapping at sides of table with needles in hands). The additional fact that a pressure on my middle back caused a twinge of electricity in my right hip did not help.

Poor Jane.

Her assessment today was, 'Well, you are just wired pretty funny.' She attempted to smile and comfort me, but I think she was afraid.

My next acupuncture treatment is in 2 weeks. We'll see if Jane is in, or if she has become a florist.