As well as motor and sensory function, the trauma had affected some of my autonomic responses. This included blood pressure regulation. The fact that apart from my recent visits to the chair, I had been on my back for over a month definitely didn’t help the situation. Even sitting up would sometimes make me feel dizzy, so before I could even consider being back on my feet, my body had to be trained to regulate its own blood pressure again.
Lie down on a table, stay still, get tilted forward. Sounds simple enough, so why had I been warned that this contraption could double up as a good way to get information out of people. The process involves Pete increasing the gradient of the table until my blood pressure drops, and then bringing me back down until it normalises. This process was then repeated until I try to punch him or pass out. In all seriousness, I knew I was in safe hands, Pete had done this a thousand times and now thankfully we had been joined by the rather larger frame of my good friend Mr Ridings. Although safe, it doesn’t change the fact that when the blood drains from your face and the walls start closing in, you can’t help but feel a sense of impending doom. The warnings now all made sense, the repetitive nature of the process did air on the side of torture, but weirdly as horrific an experience as it could sometimes be, I was actually enjoying pushing myself to the edge again.
Testing myself physically is what I enjoy; always have, always will. When you strip it back, you realise that that’s all this situation is, another test of endurance. The stakes may be higher, but the rules haven’t changed.
P.s. Stockings and shades purely for sex appeal.