Tonight's myotherapy session had a bit more swearing in it than normal. Then again, I normally spend my myotherapy sessions swearing at my lovely muscle guy as he sorts out the aches and pains. With my shoulder pretty much fixed. tonight it was time to get to work on my right hip, which has been playing up for a while.
Kabbalistic theory tells me that something is out with my Hod - the intellect part of my life. Is it getting exercised enough? Sort of have a new job - I'm learning a lot - but it's not brain surgery. Is my intellect out of whack with everything else? No more than usual.
It must be something else.
I rocked up this afternoon and discussed the discomfort. It's an ache. It's not limiting any movement. It wants to be stretched out regularly, but it's not cutting it and it's not my hip flexors - thanks to years of anatomy training, I get what is what. I often wake up with it and it's just on my right hip - I'm over it. I've been dousing it in tiger balm and voltaren for yonks.
My trousers were lost and put myself on the slab - the word many therapists use for their massage table.
Spence came back to start work on me.
"So, why is your hip hurting?" he asks, sticking his elbow into the top of my butt cheek. "Did you trip or something?"
"FUUUUUUUUCCCCCCKKKK. I've not injured myself. PRICK!"
"Okay, so that hurts. That's a good sing it's not your hip flexors."
"I could have told yout that. "
He continues to manipulate the area. My language and expletives go up and down depending on the pain level. A gentle ouch means nothing. When I call him a prick, it hurts a bit. When the C word comes out, he's really getting in there. My language is peppered with various, regular, loud expletives over the 30 minute appointment.
"So what it is, what have you been doing to make your hip hurt?"
I had a think about this.
"I sleep on my stomach with the cat between my knees. He makes a nest there as soon as I turn off the light and roll onto my tummy."
"Yeah, that won't help."
"And I've been knitting a lot."
"Knitting?"
"Yeah. Protest knitting, boredom knitting, just knitting in front of the telly. And when I knit I tuck my right foot under my bum."
"And ther we have it. You've got a knitting related injury."
"Dammit. SHIIIIIITTTTTTT. PRICK!"
I will say that Spence takes no offence in my bad language. He says that the worse the language the better the results. He's also had his consulting rooms moved out the back of the practice so the other clients don't have to listen to his clientel swearing. I'm not the only one, it seems, who calls him names, loudly, and often.
I swear by him as much as I swear at him.
So there you have it. My gammy hip is all about how I sit when I knit. At least it can be remediated. Though I don't know how I can stop the cat from using me as bedding.
Oh well.
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