Dear ______,
As you may know, human beings walk erect – as bipeds. From birth, they develop the ability to use both legs in a team effort to move about. I held this view until recently.
Imagine, then, my horror when I found my legs were no longer operating in concert. They were both ill, but with different complaints. I could not easily walk. Later, I found it difficult to get them treated. Diagnosis was easy, but concerted cure was impossible.
My left leg ("Leftie") was suffering from a deep pain that went down to the bone. My doctor diagnosed it as "a touch of arthritis" and offered an injection. I stifled my tears and said it didn't really hurt. He said I was "a brave little soldier" and offered me a toffee. He told me to apply the gel and return if there was no improvement.
Two days later, my right leg ("Rightie") rebelled. Overnight it became swollen, with an ugly red rash discolouring this elegant pedestal. (Was this a limb envy incident – more common than is supposed?) Again, I visited the surgery, but saw a different doctor this time. He would not discuss Leftie, saying he understood his colleague had already prescribed for it. He examined Rightie.
"Yes," he said. "You've got some sciatica there. Been overdoing the tennis, have we? It's particularly common among growing girls, picking up the balls, you know. Better cut along to Sister and have it dressed.
I went to see Sister, by appointment, two days later. By this time Rightie was pulsating away while the critical part, the mouth of the open sore, was racing around my leg attempting to catch up with its blistered tail.
Sister refused even to comment on Leftie. "I am not responsible for your left leg medication," she said. "You have already been offered treatment in respect of that limb. You chose a toffee. Take this prescription for your right leg. Do not confuse your two legs. That has happened before!"
Sister could not disguise her disgust at Rightie's state. As she pretended to clean her spectacles she said, "You have sciatica. This can be cured with careful and protracted attention." Immediately, Leftie began twitching. "What about me? What about me?" it throbbed.
I turned to Sister and displayed Leftie. "Is there any relationship between the two kinds of leg ailment?" I asked. There was no reply.
I hobbled away, attempting to conciliate the warring limbs. Whatever I did for either would create hostility from the other. I tried everything. I even went to Ealing Hospital, where eventually I got an appointment with Dr Gupta Singh, the noted expert on halitosis.
Dr Gupta gave me the Calming Cure. "I can sense your hostility and tenseness. Please take your fingers from my throat and listen," he said.
I resumed my seat and he continued. "Re-establish limb control. Don't let your legs forget that you are in charge. You decide where and when you walk. Let them know your decisions, but do not talk with them too much. If they rebel, you have the ultimate sanction – stay in bed. If nothing else works, why not take up a sedentary hobby? Try parking your car."
I'll let you know how I get on.
Yours,
Conrad
