Ramp it up
If Pete had a catch phrase it would be ‘ramp it up’. I concluded that the fact I was hearing him utter these words more often was a sign that we were making progress, and we were. Naturally as I get stronger, I am able to handle more, and more was exactly what I needed. The question now was, did the NHS have the resources to provide the necessary hours of physio I required? As Pete tussled to get what we needed from the powers that be, I was finding other productive ways to entertain myself. For example, I discovered that the footplate at the end of my bed doubled up nicely as a way to keep the upper body ticking over. I couldn’t help myself, the urge to do more, move more, try more, was building by the day and if this meant taking my bed apart then so be it.
These urges got me wondering what else was out there. Was there somewhere with better equipment…probably. Was there somewhere with more physios…most likely. Was there somewhere with funnier nurses…I doubt it. Was there somewhere with another Pete…definitely not. The bottom line was, I didn’t want to leave but I knew I had to do what was best for my recovery. It was never a question of the quality, just the volume that they could facilitate. Thankfully though, with Pete’s connections 🇮🇹🐴👀, we had green light from above and the decision was made. The NHS had cleared me to have the extra input I required enabling me to stay here with my dysfunctional family on Helena Ward.
Oh and by the way my left hand had decided to join the party and get its wiggle on! Unfortunately celebrations were limited to cranberry juice and laxatives but a wins a win. ✌️