Why I Hated The Physio Guy, And What I Should Have Said To Him

Posted on by Accidental Spacegirl

I shan’t divulge his name because I’m too professional for that and I’m not mean, but I didn’t like the head of physio from the moment I saw him after my hip operation. He extended his hand for me to shake, and it was like clutching limp, soggy lettuce – and I never trust such a weak handshake. When my surgeon shook my hand his grip was warm and firm, and I trusted him immediately. Not this guy though. Even if I did trust his handshake, I could tell by the way he was dressed, and by the way he spoke, that he supports shooting animals for fun, or setting packs of dogs on them for fun. I think you can safely say that we disliked each other on sight. To put it bluntly, he was a plummy-mouthed, tweed wearing, “I am better than thou because I’m rich” gobshite with a face that you want to throw wet sponges at.

I honestly felt sorry for the physio team working under him. They never looked happy, the poor loves. They only wanted to help the inpatients under their care, but him? Nope; he didn’t give a fetid dingo’s kidney and just liked to lord it. I believe that staff and patients alike suffer because of him.

When he came to see me a week after my operation, I told him that I wanted to go home. The response?

“You’re trying the stairs or you’re not going home”.

Me: “But I know I can handle the stairs in my house because I’m familiar with them”.

Him: “You try the stairs here or you’re not going home”.

Me: “You can’t make me. I know what I can do and what I can’t”.

Him: “You try the stairs here or you’re not going home”.

So, I did try the physio room’s stairs that day. What did we establish? We established that I know the stairs in my own home, and I know how to navigate them even when badly injured. Being autistic, I can’t navigate fake stairs that I’m not used to – and I said as much (or, at least, I think I did? I was so hopped up on painkillers at the time that my memory is more than a little hazy).

I was discharged the following day, and that horrible man is just a memory now; I never have to see him again, since being discharged from care by my surgeon after an outpatient appointment.

Fun fact: my left leg was always a little shorter than my right. Since the surgery they’re the same length now, so once I’m healed properly I might be able to walk properly. Hey, I might even be able to run, in time. I’ve never been able to run before.

But there’s one thing I should have said to this odious man, and I might well have done if I hadn’t been permanently stoned on painkillers at the time:

“I’m epileptic. I’ve had more injuries – including broken bones – than you’ve had hot dinners, and I’ve still managed to negotiate the stairs.”

I’m certain that the arrogant sod would have shut me down if I’d even been able to say that, but my husband would absolutely have agreed if I’d made that statement when he was visiting.

Progress is coming on nicely, though. I’m weight bearing now, and can occasionally get around without walking aids. I still have to organise physio, though (it won’t be with this prat, he only deals with inpatients).

Really, though; some people just shouldn’t work in hospitals.

9 thoughts on “Why I Hated The Physio Guy, And What I Should Have Said To Him”

  1. Good grief! What a ghastly, self-important, arrogant old fossil! I’ve heard stories about such people in hospitals before, but actually to experience one must have been utterly horrendous. That ‘because I’m important, because I know everything, and because I say so’ attitude really takes the biscuit. Indeed, such people shouldn’t work in hospitals.

    I’m so glad to hear that you’re making good progress with your recovery. Good luck with your physio, and with your walking (and hopefully running) too!

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    1. He really was quite a horrible individual. If you can’t give me a firm handshake I am not going to trust you – and I was right to not put my trust in this nasty, arrogant shame to the glorious NHS. Had he been the surgeon then I would *not* have let him anywhere near me – but thankfully my surgeon was lovely (even if he was really fond of marker pens lol).

      No joke about him being an old fossil: if Tony and Phil dug him up today they’d probably bury him again on account of being unworthy of investigation. Self-important people thoroughly disgust me, and he was definitely one of them.

      I can still feel the cannulated screws and I probably always will, but I’m improving by the day. If you’re interested, Youtube has videos of cannulated screw hip operations. I don’t need to clutch the wall when I go upstairs now; I only need the bannister 🙂

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  2. I can totally relate.
    I am just recovering from hip surgery too, my third and am, finally, with a really good physical therapist. After my first hip surgery I was the patient of a guy who didn’t give a shit, was creepy, never did any manual therapy with me and was laughing at me when I said the resistance on the stationary bike was set too high for me.
    He did not follow the protocol of my surgeon and I have had problems with this hip ever since.
    The guy was a lazy jerk. Why do people like these choose professions in which you should be kind and caring is beyond me.
    I wish you well in your recovery. Never accept a physical therapist whom you don’t trust. Look for another one. It took me nine therapists to finally find one who knew what he was doing.

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    1. Fortunately the outpatient physios don’t have anything to do with this stuck up jerk; when I broke my arm I had a lovely physio, who I hope to see this time around. So sorry that your hip is still giving you problems because of one idiot – can you complain?

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      1. That’s good. At least you don’t have to deal with this jerk anymore.

        I had both hips done, seven months apart. The R first and had the idiot PT.
        For my L I went somewhere else for physical therapy and this hip is super smooth. My R is the drama queen because it never received proper PT.

        Between both surgeries I fell and ended up with two stress fractures in both acetabulums on top of it and long story short, it took me three years to recover from all this.
        And then I broke my R hip in a ski accident. Starting all over again with my R. 🙄

        It’s too late to complain. Back then it was my first time having surgery and receiving PT. I didn’t know any better.
        Now I do. The best I can do is not go back.

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    1. Sadly not; I’d be told that I should have said something at the time (although I’m not sure how I could reasonably have been expected to do that with a clear head when I was flying on Morphine most of the time). Hopefully someone in better shape than I was will put him in his place though.

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  4. Horrible man. Really, some people shouldn’t work with people, animals or particularly sensitive inanimate objects. But I’m glad to hear you’re getting better, spacegirl☺

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    1. For me, it was loathing at first handshake. Something about overfed, overpaid, tweed-wearing snobs really raises my hackles (probably because I’m just the average girl on the street who hates all things Tory and doesn’t agree with killing animals for pleasure: I bet he pulled the wings off flies as a kid. I simply despise heartless people like that, and he completely vibed as one such heartless person).

      Definitely getting better, thank you Rose! I can hobble around the house with my stick quite well (although I still have bad days whee bed is the safest place) and I have my TARDIS blue wheelchair for out and about. My niece loves to customise things, so as soon as she learned that I want my chair Doctor Who’d to death, she was all “Oooh, me please, let me!” and she’s great at this stuff 🙂

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