Category Archives: St Margaret’s Hospital

Physiotherapy and my sore hip

The WPPC in Lower Grosvenor Place
The WPPC in Lower Grosvenor Place

Now that one of my grand-daughters is taking a degree in physiotherapy in 3 years I will have a personal physiotherapist but meanwhile my favourite physio works at the WPPC in Lower Grosvenor Place, Victoria.

After I broke my hip in San Sebastian and had an immediate full hip replacement, all was fine for 2 years and then something went wrong. Loads of treatment later including having it re-opened, injections in to the joint space and into the enthesis, acupuncture, massage, the lot – nothing helped and it still aches when I walk any distance and often when I get up or I am cooking. Luckily it does mean that I qualify for a Blue Disabled badge.  A session with my physiotherapist helps and occasionally, though not very often, I am pain free. She’s given me a programme of exercises and this time I am determined to do some every day. Might even lose some weight too.

I was surprised to discover that my grand-daughter was following the same anatomy course as the medical students and carrying out dissection. It makes sense,  since physiotherapists are very much concerned with the interplay between the muscles, nerves, blood vessels and bones and there’s nothing like dissecting them to understand their relationship.

Memoir extract from ‘Woman in a White Coat’
I was just 18 when I first dissected a human body. We’d had our first lecture on the anatomy of the thorax and now we were to start on its dissection. Continue reading Physiotherapy and my sore hip

All’s well that ends well

An early interest in getting stuck in
An early interest in getting messy. Can’t believe she’s now 48.

Perhaps an early interest in strange materials persuaded Jane, our fourth child, to take up the sciences. Now 48, she is a Science Professor.

We very nearly lost her. She was six weeks premature and so she is only 17 months younger than Louise. Now good friends, they clashed as teenagers and we had to put up with all the teenage angst one after the other. As soon as Louise emerged loveable and sweet, Jane started being difficult and hard to deal with.

Excerpt from my memoir Woman in a White Coat
Simon, our elder son,  was in St Margaret’s having an internal ear repair. I was 32 weeks pregnant and feeling very wobbly as we kissed him goodbye and went towards the lift. A trickle of liquid ran down my leg.
‘Oh God,’ I said. ‘My waters have broken.’
We crossed over to the maternity wing.
‘Look, Abby, you’re not in labour,’ the obstetric registrar said. ‘It would be best if we didn’t admit you. With your membranes ruptured, you’re better resting at home. Much less risk of infection. Let’s see if we can’t get this baby of yours a bit more mature.’
When we got home I went to bed and stayed there, except to go to the loo. No way was I going to use a bedpan. Our au pair was wonderful. She treated me as if I were made of china and very delicate. I managed to get to 34 weeks before I went into labour. I phoned for an ambulance. Continue reading All’s well that ends well