A pain in my ass

As some of you may know, I have been shuffling around with a limp for the last 6 months due to sciatica in my right leg. This whole thing has been a fucking pain in the ass and leg, and I am close to my wits end about it.

Part of the whole recovery process was to go see a Physiotherapist which I started then stopped before the third session. It's not that I didn't want to be healed, but the Physiotherapist was a quack. The others in the office were no better. No offense to the practice or to the therapist but they were.

The first day I walked into the clinic, I knew something was odd. The receptionist was in some conniption about a funeral she had to organise and attend the following day for some person she didn't know.

I sat quietly, trying to mind my own business, reading about J. Lo and Ben's tumultuous relationship in People Magazine. As hard as I tried, I couldn't help but listen, as she first pulled out her lunch bag, then a vase from her knapsack containing the ashes of the above said. Like the sucker I am, I got pulled into the conversation.
I suppose she mistook my complete disbelief for sympathy.
She proceeded to ask me if I thought it was appropriate for her to have to arrange a funeral for someone she did not know. I responded that if she was carrying around ashes on her back, in her knapsack with her lunch, that I likely was not the right person to ask. Before she could reply, my Physiotherapist came to fetch me from the horror of having to deal with another question.

My therapist Katryzina, was a tall and very pretty woman about 31 or so with dark brown hair to her shoulders. She had an accent that reminded me of a female Schwartzenagger, and the body language of Kramer from Seinfeld. She proceeded to get details of my problems and symptoms, interjecting with the occasional "Ya, das nawt goot!" or "Ya, dis muss bee horwibul fohr yu".

She began my therapy session like any ordinary Physio session, but she had a habit of talking to herself, which I stupidly mistook as questions directed at me.

"Hmmm, Sew, dis muss be dee L5 sciatic joint dat ees kaw-zing awl dee moosle payne?"

I would answer her happily, providing details, when she would stop me mid-sentence.
She quickly told me that she liked to talk out loud during her sessions, so I should just ignore her ramblings.
On her advice, I did so.
I was in my own world (still ignoring her ramblings), curiously wondering how much closer her hand was going to grace my house jewels, when she snapped her fingers in front of my eyes. The session was over, but with a quizzical look in her eyes she asked me "Dew yu half a heering pwoblum? Yu need to onser my questions or eye kawnt hellp yu"

Dumbfounded, I decided to play along with the hard of hearing idea. I wasn't about to let Schwartzenagger get the better of me, especially when she had my leg in her grip. As I got dressed and headed out, I couldn't help but wonder about my bizarre medical and doctoral stories.

Anyhow, my leg still hurts but I have another appointment with a different therapist now.
I'm sure there will be a story coming soon, part two.
I swear I must have sucker written on my head.