Physiotherapy.

For the people of the world who I haven't told yet (Which is very few it seems). I broke my wrist two months ago. I wish I could say that it was a large brawl in which I was defending a damsel's honour or maybe stopping a mugging but no I fell off my bicycle. 
It wasn't even an impressive crash, it was on a 2 mile long stretch of road for which you can see every car within an 800 metre radius and I didn't hit anything. I simply just fell off. I could weave tales of worn out gear cogs etc. but these have always gotten bad responses previously. 
Anyway after a stay in the hospital, an operation, two metal plates, a lifetime of setting off airport metal detectors and some of the most uncomfortable paper pants you can imagine I was sent home with regular sessions of physio to come. 


As I arrived to my first session I was greeted with an attractive South-African physiotherapist calling out my name which seemed to bring out an odd sense of lusting in me. 
I'm not sure what it was, maybe it was the was that she called my name and her being attractive. The idea that she wanted to see ME, out of all of the arthritis sufferers in the waiting room.
I mean it's not the same as with a girlfriend, mainly because she was getting paid to do it and that succeeds without fail to dredge to magic out of the moment. Then again it might boil down to the fact that she already had her own nurses outfit. 


Through the coming weeks I grew slightly more attracted to her up to a point in which delusions of the then 17 year old me managing to simply whisk the 20-something off of her feet within 4, 15 minute session every 4 weeks were coming out. 


When I have problems like these I talk to my friend Molly. She's good because she occasionally finds me amusing when I tell her stories such as these. She was very supportive and suggested the completely  ridiculous notions of asking her out for a drink. I realise now that this was the rational decision but by the time came to be discharged due to my annoyingly fast healing wrist I had nothing. So as it came time to say goodbye I reached deep down into myself looking for something witty but not ridiculous and would maybe put me in a stance to seem like a possible love interest, and what I came out with? 


"Should I just go then?" I sounds more callous and uncaring than it did in real life, I was actually confused as to what to do. I wasn't sure as to wether wait for the wheelchair in which I see people pushed out of hospitals etc. But then again most of my hospital experience does come from Scrubs and House M.D. 


Maybe I should just try and bash my wrist again and then have another 10 weeks with her. Then again it would be nice to meet women without the need to cause physical damage to my body to do so...