You Can't Speak, But You Can Sing?

So my third placement was in Acute Stroke. This is a remarkable field of physiotherapy that, quite frankly, scared the crap out of me. Communication has always been one of my downfalls, especially when being watched. I'm not easily stressed, but even a task as simple as chopping vegetables becomes tricky when someone's peering over my shoulder. So, I expected to be panicked when being watched in a situation as serious as post-stroke. 

I was just a little tense.

However the patients, cases and whole response unit is incredible. It was challenging, and as cheesy as it sounds incredibly rewarding. The attitudes people had after a stroke I found to be incredible. Most people were fairly accepting of their condition, and either refused treatment to remain in bed or were driven to get back to their life before. It still astounds me how the majority of patients are lovely, when out and about people that are rude and selfish are more common. Perhaps that is simply because I've so far dealt with the very young or very old, where they haven't had time to reach that stage or have grown out of it.

The links between the location of a stroke (in their brain that is... although the local services can make a difference) and the clinical presentation is astounding, and the ability to predict how a patient will present based on their CT scan makes for an interesting role when planning suitable treatment. Obviously different areas of the brain control different parts of the body, whether personality, memory, perception of objects on one side of your body, the ability to talk or the ability to improve your aim on a dart board. Each side of your brain controls the opposite side of your body, so if you have a stroke in your right motor cortex, say towards the front of your brain, you'll lose movement in your left arm. Now this is where it gets really smart: if you're dominant on your right side (ie you are right handed) you are dominant on the left side of your brain, so your speech originates from the left side. Therefore if you're a lefty, your speech comes from the right side of your brain, and to top that all off? Often patients that lose the ability to speak, due to a lack of blood to the area, can still sing. The theory is it taps in to another area of the brain, and so even though they've struggled to say a single word they can join in happily to 'London's Burning'.

I cycled to and from this placement every morning. It was a lovely cycle, mostly downhill on the way there and through a mental hospital, which had a calm, relaxing atmosphere with plenty of greenery. The station was right by Sainsbury's so every evening I could pick up dinner on my way home before hopping on my bike. However one evening I came home late, and my bike was not there. You might be thinking, 'ah but this is London, you knew it was going to happen some time' but actually, that bike was so poxy no one would want it. The frame is too small, the bolt on the saddle jammed to leave it a suitable height for dwarves, the gears gargle frequently and none of the brakes work. It doesn't even look nice. In my panic I started doubting myself. Maybe I didn't leave it there, that must've been yesterday. So I started walking around all the bike racks trying to find it, but the more I thought about it the more certain I was that I definitely left it outside Sainsbury's. Just as I was about to give up hope, I spotted it. My poxy little bike sat there, chained to a new rack with a new lock and someone else's bike. Time to ring the police. But hold on, this was not an emergency - 999 is not suitable. I don't even know where the local police station is. Time to ring the parents. 

Finally, I got a hold of the police. They transferred me from person to person and each time they had the same shocked silence to 'Hi, I had my bike stolen but I've found it chained up to another bike approximately 30m away. Can someone help me to cut it free please?' The conclusion they eventually came to was 'Unfortunately, it is a busy night and there is no one in the area who can help you. We may be able to get someone to you in about 6 hours, but seeing as it will be 4am we do not recommend you stay by your bike.' I'm starting to understand how so few people get their stolen bikes back, seeing as I'd done the tricky bit and found it!

So I decided if the police weren't going to help me, I was going to have to get it back myself. And, with thanks to a local chicken shop, I did. Unfortunately I went to 5 or so shops beforehand and had to explain the whole story to each one. I left a note for the filthy little thieves:

'PAHAHA! Selfish bastards. Hope the other bike is still there. I would have locked it but YOU STOLE MY LOCK. Farewell.'

This isn't a song, however it is a fantastic advert. I thoroughly enjoyed the first one, but this is even more spectacular.

Thinkbox - Harvey & Rabbit

The Christina Chronicles

Meet another one of my housemates, Christina.
For anyone who watches the Big Bang Theory, there is likeness to Sheldon in her - although not as extreme. She's an interesting character, and although sometimes can be a complete nightmare to live with it's often these characteristics that make her personality great.

The first year I lived with her, I created the 'Mean List', as the majority of her mischief was somehow deflected onto me. Take a look at the mean things Christina has done to (a rather innocent) Hayley:

• Poured hot chocolate down her back
• Threw a pan of popcorn scraps at her, resulting in mass attack from the flat
• Set the fire alarm off at 3am with an impressive amount of cigarette smoke
• Threw water at her, resulting in it looking like she had been drooling/peed herself
• Smashed a freshly cooked fairy cake in her face (half eaten and all)
• Smeared houmous on her face, then wiped some of it off with pitta bread
• Woke her (& Linus & Laura) up on the morning(s) they had a lie in
• Ran into her room at a ridiculous time of the morning and shoved her tits in her face whilst yelling 'WE FOUND STRIPPERS!'
• Running up to her room and scaring Hayley just to provoke the 'WHHHYYY?!' reaction
• The many attacks of her BCG including the demon elbow
• Told Hayley: 'See if looks evil, that's why it's like you.'
• Told Hayley: 'Your music is so spasticated it makes me want to cry'

Our kind of humour

The list became long enough that there was a need for part II:

• Hit Hayley in a lecture to wake her up. Hayley was not asleep
• Hit Hayley because she was being attacked by Yao
• Hit Hayley's boob with a tendon hammer to test whether or not it had a reflex
• Told Hayley 'You look ill.! No 'Hello', nothing. Hayley was not ill & had actually been feeling rather cheery
• Told Hayley 'You look like a mosquito bite'
• Percussed Hayley's head and then announced 'It's empty'

At this point she interjected with 'gingerls have hairy pussy and most are agly'. She's from Cyprus, so imagine that in a Greek accent for full effect.

• Exclaimed 'I would never kiss Hayley!' Christina then pulled a disgusted expression and continued with 'I would never kiss a ginger!'
• Informed Hayley 'You're pretty... for a ginger'

She interjected once more with 'It is the truth... patric likes but what the fuck...' Patrick is a mutual friend who simply said that he had no objections to hooking up with a ginge.

• Punched Hayley in the cunt. Ouch.
• Jumped on an ill Hayley and began dry humping & jiggling her tits in Hayley's face. This was after a game of strip poker.

From there, the list was becoming too long and so was ceased for year 2, but it doesn't mean that it stopped. Admittedly we trained her out of hitting by whacking her back every time, but her humorous stunts continued aplenty.

This year she took a running, drunken punch at my cunt. Joy.

One of my good mates, Martin, often crashes round mine and vice versa... so it's common for him to be in my bed in the morning. Christina often strolls into my room declaring 'Hiiiii Martin' and grabbing his crotch (don't ask about the latter, we've never really understood). One morning, she strolled in and saw a brown-haired chap and so said 'Hiiiiiii Martin!' but thankfully didn't grab his crotch as, funnily enough, it wasn't Martin but instead Joe. Try explaining that to the guy.

Her finest performance this year? The return to our house from Beer Bowling. A typical 15 minute walk took us a good 45. We walked all of about 5m before she removed her shoes because they hurt, but she was in no state to be shoeless so I gave her mine. She continued the journey, humping glass windows in an attempt to hump the manikins behind and hugging cars that she believed to be her beloved Tzatiki. At 2am, the floor was just a tad cold so for her to remove my shoes from her feet, 20m from our front door declaring 'These shoes are NONSENSE!' was a massive blow. Funnily enough, the next morning she remembered nothing.

This song will always remind me of her:

Don't Worry, Be Happy - Bobby McFerrin

Shakin' That Ass

Cheerleaders.
Everyone has their own perception of a cheerleader... and most are the opposite of me.

Short skirts? ...jeans
Sexy dancing? ...my signature 'alternating dolphin' move
Flexible? ...awarded the tightest hamstrings title in my class
Confident? ...that awkward feeling when someone watches me chop vegetables.

Basically, I'm not cut out for cheerleading. So why I gave it a shot? Who knows...
I like to say that it's because the gymnastic and stunting part is incredible and I aspired to such roles, but on the first session my abs revealed themselves as inadequate for any form of flying. Maybe it was for the overall challenge. 

The first few weeks were cringe making to the extreme. At the end of every session someone would be awarded the spirit stick, and to be honest that's quite a nice concept however the cheery song to congratulate the winner was... interesting. It goes along the lines of 'we are proud of you say we are proud of you *clap clap*' repeat a few times with 'woooaaaah good job!' at the end. American accents required, of course.

After the few weeks, I got over it. The unnatural arse wiggling and tit shaking was a challenge too far though. That was until, however, I won the spirit stick for my arse wiggling and tit shaking.

Now that was a weird experience.
...most likely to be sympathy.

Through all of that, I decided to compete. A national competition for arse wiggling, tit shaking and co-ordinated dance whilst wearing short skirts, smiling like a maniac and pretending to be flexible.

It was the cheeriest place I've ever been to, but in an annoying way. Everyone was loud and ridiculously keen. There were many a 'we are proud of you' and too many incredibly proud parents. Yet once you got into it, it became addictive. The poms came out, as did the ridiculous cheering and jumping up and down at any opportune moment. All in all? Enjoyable!

Made for an awkward admittance as to why I was so knackered on placement. My colleagues perceptions somewhat changed on that day, but it remains far from the worst scenarios. There's something about me that makes me approachable... people feel they can open up to me. In the Older Persons Assessment Unit, this becomes that little bit more awkward. Here are two prime examples:

• There I was, carrying out a typical falls assessment on a woman who, admittedly, was taking control. However, she was happy and I was completing what I needed to in order to ascertain the situation. Until...
  'Have you ever had sex?'
  Firstly, this was a little insulting and secondly, this was incredibly awkward when the person supervising me (my clinical educator) is well within earshot.
  'Urmmmm yes, but why? I'm not sure if this is appropriate'
  Turns out she wanted to tell me dirty jokes about her son, and this was only worth doing if I'd ever given sex a shot. In all credit to her, the semi-dirty jokes were hilarious and we had a right laugh for the rest of the assessment. We built a good rapport, I obtained a good idea of her problems and ways to resolve them and she was keen to return the following week. Win-win if you ask me.
  My clinical educator was not so chuffed - reckons it's unprofessional
  
  
• 'This dizziness is hard to cope with'
  'Hrmm, I can only imagine'
  'I can't roll in bed, and have to sleep on my side and, well... y'know. It's making it very difficult to be intimate with a man'
  At this point, I desperately had to restrain myself from recommending the Karma Sutra. Pretty certain that goes against professionalism. Shame really, as it would probably have been incredibly useful.
  

I See You Baby - Groove Armada

Why Would A Ginger Dye Their Hair?

You may think to improve personal image, or perhaps avoid mockery, or bullying during the school days? To no longer be called 'matchstick', 'duracell' or 'tampon' or have people standing a metre away to avoid catching 'gingervitis' perhaps? Or even to prevent people singing 'get back in your biscuit tin, gingerrr gingerrr' every time you go for a biscuit. Well I was a ridiculously happy child who didn't notice the bullying - just thought that the other kids were being dim and continued playing 'it'. Although my naivety is fading, the same applies now - take it in good humour and maintain your happiness.

I clearly have a mockable face - there's something about me that indicates to people that I'm someone to make fun of - even small kids join in. I think it's mainly 'cos I'll take little personal meaning to it, and laugh it off - generally 'cos they're pretty good jokes or makes them laugh. I can't see the point in wasting valuable time on over-analysing people's impressions of me, so spend little time on my appearance or worrying. If life all ends in death, then the worst is always yet to happen... sounds sinister but that means that it could always be worse - be happy for your situation.

I've somewhat diverted and come scarily close to a 'deep' analysis suitable for an emo MySpace profile. Mind you, that's possibly fitting for what's yet to come.

My housemate, George, when we were 15 used to walk next to me with his phone playing
'WARNING! WARNING! GINGER ALERT'
...sirens and all. He'd also point in case any one was perhaps unable to identify myself as the ginge next to him.

He seemed to have a genuine hatred for gingers and would constantly insult anyone who had a tinge of the ginge. This was mostly portrayed through comedy and outright insults, which although I found comical some didn't. As a social group we had the feeling that if we managed to strategically dye his hair ginger without him realising, he'd probably break down. So as all caring teenagers do, we formed a bet: if he dyed his hair ginger, I'd dye mine black.

He was certain this would never happen, as not only had I promised a babysitter when I was 9 that I'd never dye my hair, my pale skin and light eyebrows would leave me looking a fool.

I did look a fool.
...and like to think I didn't fully break the promise as we used semi-permanent dye.

So the reason I dyed my hair? To humiliate another. If you look the whole situation though, he did the same. I guess this is the basis of our friendship. Together we left the house looking ridiculous. My black hair, seemingly no eyebrows, skin so pale you need sunglasses to prevent snowblindness in the sunshine and his new Ron Weasley image.

Was it worth it?

Well, three months later I'm still not ginger again (we used semi-permanent dye) and he's well and truly blonde again. I have glorious ginger roots that have been accurately described as 'just like the sunburst effect on a guitar' so my head glows orange in the sunlight. I've had an awkward moment with my clinical educator as she finally gets the guts to ask 'are you ginger?' and have dealt with the horrified look on my family's faces. But yes, it was worth it.

He forgot he had to take a new passport photo.
He's going to be ginger for 10 years.

As for my current song: Dog is Dead - Young. I played this song to Laura who when I asked 'Do you like it?' simply responded with 'No, nothing about it, it's just rubbish'.

Reminds me of Christina's fantastic quote:
'Your music is so spasticated it makes me want to cry.'

I quite like it though.