My thoughts today go back to my childhood this morning and the one thing that sticks out in my mind is my exercise routine and how fruitless they were.
It wasn’t even the exercises I was mad at, or being singled out to do them. I was frustrated at the fact that neither of my parents wanted to know or if they did know I didn’t know what was wrong with me. Deep down I knew that the exercises I had been told to do wouldn’t help.
My philosophy has always been that you can’t add muscle to a leg that has insufficient muscle development or an arch to a foot that is drop foot, so the exercises I had to do, would never have corrected those problems. The lack of emotional help, made me even more agitated.
I had exercises to do. That was a given, but the exercises I had to do became a constant source of stress to me. Mum cared enough to want to help, but I didn’t see how the exercises she wanted me to do would help. I had cerebral palsy, it didn’t make sense. My leg still has very little shape.
It is true that in the 1960’s, the UK society and the medical profession didn’t know as much as they do today. The medical profession is more caring now. Everything felt clinical with no real care and consideration and that feeling is still here with me today.
When I asked my mum questions about my exercises, she’d say, “You can’t have a pretty face without a pretty leg.” Although well intentioned, I didn’t equate what she meant. It was a constant battle coming through those times.