At the hospital again this morning for another session with the physioterrorist - who has decided that it is "time we were moving things on a bit". This is physio-speak for "time we increased the torture level". Today's 90-minuter saw me getting into various uncomfortable positions that I haven't been in for several months, and one or two that I don't think I've ever been in before. "Aaah," I said, followed by "Oww" and finally "Fuck!". The physio didn't seem to notice this - I think they must be conditioned to filter out swearing and verbal abuse. My next appointment is on Tuesday, which should just about give me time to recover.
Watched Should I Worry About MRSA? on TV. The obvious answer being, "if you're going anywhere near a hospital, yes". The programme featured one particularly filthy hospital where the cleaning duties are undertaken by the same company that provides the food to, amongst others, Glasgow Royal Infirmary. They're obviously hedging their bets here - if the MRSA doesn't kill you, the food will.
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