Over the next three months, while the Powers That Be decide whether or not my op is worth funding, I have regular appointments with a dietitian and a physiotherapist.
Last Tuesday I saw the Dietitian. She asked me questions about the food I eat, how often I splurge on takeaways and what I have if I do (still too much, too often… working on it). She seemed generally pleased with my progress and simply advised to keep on doing what I’m doing; logging calories in myfitnesspal, and keeping an eye on things with the Fitbit. She also put my mind at rest on the sticky issue of the funding decision. She said if I didn’t get funding it would be because the operation is not considered safe for me at this moment in time. However, it would appear things are looking positive and I should keep on keeping on until the next stage of the process is reached.
On Thursday I had my first appointment with the service’s new Physiotherapist. I had no idea what to expect having been through nothing of the sort in the past. Another new appointment, another assessment. This time a lot of questions which really brought home just how ruddy lazy I’ve been. The questions, and tests of my walking pace, ability to run (hilariously poor) etc were to establish a baseline, a point from which we can measure progress.
She then set me a daily exercise routine. Ten minutes, three times a day, when I would normally be sitting on my arse staring at my iMac. Since the appointment I’ve done these exercises twice.
I have to admit, exercise has always been a problem for me. And ten minutes of stepping and what-have-you seems like ten hours. The prospect of doing this three times a day does not fill me with joy. I know that if I’m to do this, I need help.
And, unfortunately for my metal-loving husband, that help is in the form of dance hits from the 90s:
And some unadulterated cheese from the 70s:
In my next instalment of pre-operative blether, I’ll share the first few days from my activity diary. Will embracing my inner English Disco Lover make any difference? I think it might. Blame it on the boogie.
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