Travelling Man

Old age gives you the time and opportunity to travel. Many journeys end at the massed ranks of the gaping mouths at the nursing home. You may visit the lonely crowds at the cancer hospital. There are the 100s of hours waiting at the GPs. This week it was the cardiac rehab. A collectors item.

The fat,the old and the very ugly begin with an exercise session that is so moderate that it would embarrass a sparrow, Hands up, hands down,to the side,and down. The physio leading this not so merry band,tomake the surreal pure Dali,charming girl, only had one hand.

We go onto the education. Fat bad,salt bad,veg good,sausage roll bad, egg good,diary bad.nuts good. The litany of the often repeated healthspeak drones on. QandA follows. Is soyal milk OK,can I eat oat meal,can I die before breakfast. Red wine is better than white,only two units a day,two alcohol free days a week. This rebel heart,now repaired,feels any more of this well known,screamingly obvious healthspeak and I willreach for the life support switch.

Soon I am walking six minutes up and down a corridor and having my pulse taken, then its two sessions on the bike machine. My heart may be refreshed but my brain is in melt down. But I am here like everyone  else because I damaged my heart,now the cardiac cops are reading me what isleft of my rights. Not much.