My last two blogs on Dyspraxia have taken my thoughts 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 tone to a leg that has insufficient muscle development or an arch to a foot that is part of a drop foot, so the exercises my mum made me do, would never have corrected those problems. My parents lack of wanting to help me emotionally, made me even more agitated.
Of course I would have had to do exercises. That was a given, but the exercises I had to do became a constant source of stress to me. My mum cared enough to want to help me at least, but the kind of exercises I had to do, didn’t make things any easier. Apart from my leg being slightly more flexible today, it has very little shape.
It is true that in the 1960’s, in the UK, society and the medical profession didn’t know as much as they do today and I have to continue to resolve that. Exercises will probably be better suited to help someone with Cerebral Palsy today. The medical profession is more caring now. Everything felt clinical with no real care and consideration to the person having to deal with the problem and that feeling is still here with me today.
When I asked my mother 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. All I remember is that I don’t have fond memories of that time.