Not looking much better, is it? Six weeks later.

In fact it looks a bit like an angry chorizo. Doesn’t feel too good either. 😦

Last week I started physiotherapy at a place recommended by my surgeon. A friend of his – a ‘hand specialist’ no less. Yeah right.

I showed up for the first appointment last Thursday and the ‘hand specialist’ was nowhere in sight. The attendent looked quite miffed when I said I wanted to speak to him before they started doing anything to my hand, so about half an hour later I got to see The Man. He said it would take at least ten daily sessions to start off with and then sent me out to get started. Turns out this specialist doesn’t actually touch patients – he has a bunch of minions (most of them look fresh out of grad school) doing all the work.

My ‘treatment’ turned out to be ten minutes under an infrared heat lamp, two minutes under a laser beam and then a five-minute massage. And each 17-minute treatment not only cost money but also took more than two hours out of my life (one hour just getting there and back). So I went again on Friday and then again on Monday morning … and walked out never to return. It was so packed in there on Monday that I was going to have to wait almost two hours for my 17-minute treatment. Which frankly I can do at home. So that’s what I’m doing now.

I can use my hair drier to heat up da finga and instead of the laser I’ll just glare at it (The Ray™). And I’m way better at massaging than the two ‘therapists’ I experienced. Boy, ineptitude and disorganisation really bug me – especially when it comes to my health. I still half-suspect the op wasn’t even necessary but I’m not going there (for now) . . .