Blog 8 – “That sounded like I broke my bloody leg”
It was not an accident - it was entirely my fault.
If I knew then what I know now I would not
have been riding Gazelle, she simply wasn’t ready.
I was convinced that I could “manage” and
ride her though her issues but a (mutual) temper tantrum led to Gazelle, once
again rearing up and we came down together on the road, my left leg trapped
between her body and the curb.
As we came down I thought, “That sounded like I broke my
bloody leg.”
Gazelle got up and made her
own way home (which says a lot about our relationship) and when I tried to get up I realised that indeed I had.
Gazelle's arrival home alone caused a lot of
trauma (those were the days when a mobile phone was a rarity). I was found by the poor postman and then my
husband who drove me to hospital. A
mid-shaft fracture of my tibia was confirmed and I was put in a
non-weight-baring full-leg cast, from the top of my thigh to the ball of my foot
and sent home with crutches and an appointment to return in 4 weeks.
The first couple of weeks were a torture, I was in a lot
of pain physically but also completely dependent on others to look after me, my
gorgeous daughter and my yard. (I can’t
fault anyone who helped me through this, they were fabulous and I while I was
grateful as someone fiercely independent I felt as morose as a stroppy
teenager.)
In the first month I had developed effective enough
strategies that, although I could not drive or ride, I could get some sleep and
to and from the yard on crutches, take back some control (very important to me) and
teach.
So convinced was I of my progress that I was sure that when I went for my first hospital check-up I would be told that I was a miraculous healer, the cast could be removed and I could get on with my life again.
Instead I was informed that they was no sign of bone growth yet and that I should return in another 4 weeks.
So convinced was I of my progress that I was sure that when I went for my first hospital check-up I would be told that I was a miraculous healer, the cast could be removed and I could get on with my life again.
Instead I was informed that they was no sign of bone growth yet and that I should return in another 4 weeks.
And so began a roller-coaster which was to last 8
months. Arrival for check-ups convinced
I was better, only to told there was little or no progress, being sent home
miserable, then using increasingly creative strategies to cope until the next
appointment.
Ultimately, of course I did heal sufficiently that I could
have the cast removed (actually it was the 4th cast, I had atrophied
so much muscle that the cast had to be changed frequently).
And so began physio, “How much mobility would
you like back in your leg?” I was asked, “All of it" (obviously) was my
response to the sympathetic but ineffective physiotherapist. However, with due diligence I did my
exercises, gradually I was fully weight baring again and did indeed regain full
mobility of my leg and most of the atrophied muscle.
Back to normal - although my leg did not
return to “normal” until many years later.
Some of this was physical and a lot of it was emotional, in hindsight I
realised that for years I called it “the” leg, not “my” leg. (Please check out Oliver Sachs “A Leg To Stand On” – fabulous book.)
It always felt weak and it hurt, not a lot
just a nagging reminder that all was not well…
Next time, "Opps I did it again" 2nd March.
Next time, "Opps I did it again" 2nd March.
For those searching online for more “instructional”
resources than offered in these blogs please make use of my video downloads www.ashenec.co.uk
No comments:
Post a Comment