Paper Cut

"One last push," my physiotherapist, Dr Mapule says, prompting me to take one last step forward. My entire weight is held up onto the rails I have held onto, and I feel my arms collapsing.

Dr Mapule guides me to my wheelchair, doing all the body lifting. Sitting back down feels like heaven.

"You're getting better at holding yourself up and stepping forward," Dr Mapule, compliments me.

I disagree. I'm getting better holding myself up with my warms and swinging my hips to advance.

"Don't get it twisted. My arms and hips are doing all the work lifting my weight and swinging me forward" I point out.

"Give yourself credit," she encourages me.

"How long has it been?" I ask frustrated.

"40 minutes?" she says.

"No since we first started," I ask feeling even more underwhelmed

"I met you when you were turning 15. Now you're are..."

"22 years," I inform her, looking down to the ground and fiddling with my fingers.

"Wow. Has it really been that long?" she realises

"Yes. And we have little to show for it. I can't even move my toe on my own," I vent.

Dr Mapule has been with me since the accident and through the years until present. She has experienced it all. And knows deep in her heart that this isn't working. She has to admit that I am one of those people that can't progress with treatment nor therapy.

I take a glimpse at her. She looks at me with sorry eyes. I don't know what they mean, concern, disappointment, empathy or sympathy

"Don't be discouraged. Your injuries are really severe. I mean you survived getting polio as a teen and walked out being able to breathe on your own. Some can't say that. Yes, it's been 7 years but we have had small wins along the years and they need to be celebrated," she encourages me

"Do you believe I could ever walk again? At this rate," I ask.

She looks at me, going deep into thought.

"What matters if you believe that you could," she deflects.

She always knows what to say.

"I would like for this to be my last session with you," I blurt out

I thought a lot about it. I've been in this wheelchair for 7 years. I have been coming for therapy every month since the accident. I have seen no improvement but gradual progression.

"Uhm. It's a really hard ask. I have kind of grown attached to you. And I am not saying that because you are my niece. Would you like a different physiotherapist or perhaps change hospitals?" Dr Mapule suggests

"It's not that. I don't want to continue with physiotherapy at all," I explain

"I know your limbs haven't gone to the goal you want but comparing it to other polio survivors, you are at the top of your class. You need to keep up with your training to delay progression. Did you go over it with your granny?" she says so many different things

I understand that I have been comparing myself to normal people, I can't help it. I want a normal life.

"I know that this is important. I also know I don't have to if I don't want to," I point and she looks at me blankly.

"I don’t recommend," she says shutting me down.

The back and forth talk stops and the room goes out into silence.

"This is the part where you tell me I have the right to deny therapy but it is your duty to let me know the risks and complication that may come up if I stop," I say

"We'll come to that. May I ask where all this comes from," she asks me.

"I've been reading Grandfather's journal," I tell her

"Granny should have burned those?" Dr Mapule says to herself

"She was going to burn them? That is his memory. How could she? How could you let her, he was your uncle," I say feeling betray

"Because we knew you would be one day influenced by it. Those are not scientific evidence. They are just observations and people's testimonies. Your dad and uncle looked into it for some time and it inspired them to study medicine but found that he was very biased when he wrote that," she explains to me.

"I agree that the body does heal itself and trying to seek health, puts stress on the body making it worse," I say.

"You're trying to cut off exercise and maybe even diet, two crucial factors that improve health. Countless people see results in this program, how many see results by doing nothing? Things either pause or get worse. I say we take a few steps back and go to the soft training until you feel you are ready to get back to it or I can get you into a counselling program where you can share your thoughts and experiences with a group that understands," she recommends.

"It's biblical. With just faith, the blind can see, and the amputated can grow limbs. We already know that those with disability are so accepting of their situations that they never try to get better," I point out.

"But faith without work is dead. I hear your argument about people with disabilities acting to only maintain health and not improve it but do you other sources. Can your grandfather's work be replicated?" she asks me.

"Can I suggest that you finish the rest of the year with me and go to the counselling sessions and then by the end of it, you can stop," I say.

"No. I have every right to terminate therapy with immediate effect. I have to go. It's my day to cook," I disagree.

"Please, give it another week. Think about what you are trying to do,"

"I have been thinking about it for weeks. I am sure this is what I want to do," I insist.

I have been in therapy every week for 7 years. It has worked for some people but not me. Not a single improvement, no progress in sensation, no progress in motion and at times it feels like we had regression. I'm ready to get healing at a different angle.

"At least come back next week so that I can properly go through the risks with you then we can document your decision to stop with therapy. In the meantime continue training and dieting as if you're still part of the program," she advises.

"Okay. See you with the papers next week," I say rolling out of the room.