PHYSIO HELL

Here's Sam giving me a massage to loosen my upper leg tendons. And yes, he's qualified. It's excruciating. This is what I'd also have to go through for the rest of my life if I had surgical tendon release which I had as a child and it failed as physiotherapy was not given post op. At the age of 40 my legs are now deformed where as a child they were still viable. I've been offered a repeat of the surgery. But at the end of the day I'd still have useless legs with a life that revolved around taking organ damaging and toxic, heavy doses of pain killers; muscle relaxants (that make me drool and loosen my throat muscles increasing my choke rusks); and excruciating painful physiotherapy as my legs are now deformed and not viable.

Without my legs I'd not have this hell to go through presently. Nor would I be bed ridden as I am now. Nor would I be suffering the potentially deadly skin problems I am having. Pressure sores and skin infections kill hundreds annually and now I am just waiting my turn. Nor would I be stressing all those battling to care for me and are traumatized by seeing the pain I am in everyday all day. Sam, who's had to deal with this for nineteen years, can only do and take so much, and I can only continue to wish I were dead.

Shame the surgeon who had the final say on my fate and has condemned me to this existence of hell isn't given the assignment of looking after me for a couple of weeks all by himself without any help and see what the Hippocratic oath not to harm really means.