A Heart of Stone

As a junior in Mount Royal College in Calgary, Alberta, I was required to participate in Gym class.  There was a variety of activities but one that I disliked immensely because I was a tall person was tumbling (gymnastics).  We had to take a run, bounce on a spring board and flip over a wooden horse.  I did it but when I landed on my feet after the flip, I landed with all my weight on my right leg.  There was a sickening crunch and down I went.  I had torn all the ligaments in my right knee.  That resulted in two weeks in the hospital, a near death experience due to an allergy to medications given to me, and then nine weeks with my entire leg from toe to thigh encased in a heavy plaster cast.  It ruined my year in college.

After the cast was eventually removed, the doctor decided that physiotherapy would be just the ticket to getting my knee moving again.  The arrangements were made and  I dutifully showed up at the therapist's office.  I did not know what I was in for but I should have been for warned when the therapist called out sternly as I walked down the hall, "You don't need to walk like that."  The therapist had not even seen me but must have had excellent hearing.

The therapist turned out to be an extremely beautiful young lady, the kind that makes your heart skip a beat, with a bright smile and a pleasant welcoming manner.  However, I soon discovered that it was all a facade and this vision of loveliness had a heart of stone.

She got me up on a table and slide a long plank liberally sprinkled with baby powder under my right leg. Then she took my foot and slowly pushed it towards my body so that my knee was forced to bend.  The pain was excruciating but I could actually feel the ligaments, still shrunken from the operation, begin to stretch like elastic bands.  This would restore the movement in my knee but for one awful moment, I was afraid that the ligaments would tear off again.  I don't recall how many times she repeated the movement but I still remember the pain and the fact she was not moved by it.

I was not the only patient in the room to experience her hard heart.  There was an elderly lady, probably in her eighties, who had been in a car accident and was in for therapy.  She was seated on a chair and had to lift weights attached to pulleys, with her legs.  The poor dear was in tears but our angel in white showed no mercy.

I did not know the nature of the woman's injuries but the therapist kept saying, "You will never regain your strength  to walk if you don't do these exercises."  The patients response was more tears.

I went back for several more sessions and with each one, my walking improved.  Now I realise, that on my own, I would have never accomplished that.  The therapist had to have a heart of stone in order to help her patients.