Page 18 of The Flowers of Bay C
‘The physio will be over later to help you with some clearance,’ he says. ‘And maybe a little walk, yes?’
I nod, but inside I shake my head.
The physiotherapist is an impossibly young, implausibly energetic boy named Dan. He’s full of cheer and motivational soundbites, all delivered in a soft Welsh lilt. I like him, but he’s exhausting and punishing on my frail body. This morning he is more joyous than ever, bouncing into the bay and loping over to my bed. ‘Good to see some colour in your face! How’s that breathing?’
I shrug.
‘Not so good still?’
‘No.’
‘We’ll do some clearance, if you’re okay with that, then?’
I nod.
I’m not really okay with it. He always claps my back until I feel bruised and battered, loosening the resistant mucus on my chest. He’s the most brutal of all the respiratory physios in here, but he gets the best results, so I have to be okay with it because it will help me get better.
‘Good. Let’s get started, then. On your right side first? That’s your worst, isn’t it? Lower right lobe?’
‘Mmm.’
‘Okay then.’ He helps me over onto my side, a slow process of grunting and groaning agony. He grabs the bed remote and flattens it down, then pulls the curtains round so we’re enclosed together. I close my eyes. ‘Just do some active breathing cycle first to get started, then I’ll do some percussion.’
I breathe slowly. Shallow breaths. In-out-in-out-in-out. Deeper breaths, six of them, slow and steady, as far in as I can get, which isn’t far, even with the oxygen.
‘Good, good,’ Dan says, though it’s not really good. It’s a bit pathetic, really. ‘Same again, try and breathe more deeply on the second bit.’
Not going to happen.
I go through the cycle again and then he starts his percussion and vibration. It sounds like fun, when I think about it like that, like there’s a full brass band in here with me, blasting away the rubbish.
Not fun.
‘Okay?’ he says.
‘Kind of.’
‘It’s working well. I can hear it loosening. Can I keepgoing?’
‘Yes.’ I want to say no, but he’s just doing his job. Just grit your teeth and bear it, Penny.
When he finishes I am sore and exhausted. I lie there, unable to move, as he adjusts the bed and then makes some notes on my chart. ‘I’ll send that sample off to the lab. The doctor mentioned going for a little walk. How do you feel about that? Just to the ward entrance, perhaps?’
‘I… I—’
‘You not ready? It might help with recovery. Bit of exercise, get those legs working?’ His eyes are twinkling. ‘You might be able to get those sexy stockings off.’
I look down at my unattractive off-white hospital support stockings and feel my lips curving upwards.
‘Ah, see there, I saw a grin! We’ll have you up and about, you’ll see.’
He writes more onto his chart. ‘What is it you do, again?’
My heart sinks. Not that, again. The how-do-you-justify-your-existence question. I lie in bed and claim benefits, that’s what I do, and that’s hard enough, navigating the hell that is disability benefit applications and appeals.
I wish I could be like you, Dan, and bring meaning to people’s lives.
???
