There are probably all sorts of witty ways I could begin this post, but they all escape me this evening. The bare facts are as follows:
– On Tuesday evening I came home from work, cooked and ate tea with One then collected Three from her after school club as usual.
– We got out of the car at home.
– I walked round the car to the pavement, somehow stumbled and turned my ankle over and ended up sprawled inelegantly on the pavement right outside my house.
– After laughing and reassuring Three I was perfectly okay, I realised I couldn’t get up.
– I crawled into the house and was met by One and her crutches to help me get to the sofa.
– After panicking loudly on facebook, I followed my friends’ advice and called 111.
– They sent me an ambulance, with blue flashing lights and everything.
– The paramedics looked at my foot and said ‘it’s going to be a trip to Leighton, isn’t it?’ (local hospital)
– They took me for an ambulance ride, gave me ibuprofen on the way, booked me in and left me in a wheelchair in A&E to await my fate.
– After about an hour I was called through to Minors. Had to shout very loudly to ask the receptionist to wheel me round there as I couldn’t move!
– Foot prodded. I squeaked loudly at very localised pain. Sent for X ray. I was NOT brave and whinged a lot to the X ray people as they asked me to put my foot into positions it preferred not to adopt.
– I’ve broken my fifth metatarsal.
– I got double tubigrip, a pair of crutches, and an appointment at the fracture clinic 6 days’ from then.
– A very kind friend came to my rescue to give me a lift home (thank GOODNESS for facebook!).
Since then I’ve been existing on painkillers, self pity, chocolate, tea and an occasional dose of necessary sense of humour.
I’m learning to ask for help. A bit. Sometimes. As I am Ms Bloody-Stubborn-And-Fiercely-Independent it is a very humbling experience being completely and utterly helpless.
– I can put no weight on my foot at all, and daren’t try until the fracture clinic tell me what’s what on Monday afternoon.
– I crawl up the stairs at night on my good foot and my other knee, and slide down them on my bottom in the morning. Other than that, I don’t use the stairs at all.
– I have a survival bag with painkillers, kindle, phone-and-charger, hairbrush and anything else I need on a daily basis which sits next to me at all times and I get a child to carry up and down the stairs for me when I go.
– My knitting sits next to the sofa at my feet at all times though I haven’t been doing much of it yet as I still feel guilty for doing leisure activities when I’m supposed to be at work.
– One certain friend has been particularly wonderful; turning up on the first morning saying ‘I knew if I offered help on facebook you’d say no, so I’ve just come anyway’, bearing teabags and chocolate, and being an absolute mine of genius ideas and practical help.
– I’ve been bowled over by the kindness and willingness of so many other people too. My faith in the basic loveliness of humanity has been boosted tremendously.
I have absolutely no clue at the moment when I will be able to drive again or when I’ll be able to get back to work. I’ve gone from absolute mayhem hectic busyness which I was struggling to sustain without a nervous breakdown to barely being able to move or do anything at all. A very tiny part of me thinks this might have been the only way to get me to slow down enough to save my mental health from falling to pieces. The rest of me is just massively annoyed and stressed at the myriad logistical problems this has now created.
Winning the prize for farcical events so far is the trip to Tesco with my friend this afternoon, so I could do some grocery shopping. J pushed me in the wheelchair we recently purchased for One; we attached a trolley to it and trundled around the store crossing items off my list. Lots of easy-prepare food as cooking is impossible for me right now. We noticed that today must be Christmas dressing up day for the Tesco staff as we wheeled past a rather tall Oompa Loompa!
We heard a sireny sound as we shopped, idly chatted about whether it was the fire alarm, but as everyone else seemed to be ignoring it, we just carried on shopping. By the tortilla chips, we heard a tannoy announcement informing us all that it was indeed the fire alarm and we should all leave the store immediately.
We joined a stream of shoppers heading towards the entrance, escorted by various dressed up staff including Batman, Robin, and Superman. My wheelchair pushing was taken over by a Gingerbread man, who made sure our trolley was left safely and then said ‘we’re not allowed to use the lift in a fire alarm, but we’ll have to get you downstairs somehow…’
The end result was that I was wheeled backwards onto the travelator and held still on there until we got to the bottom, by a Gingerbread man! As the travelator began to slope I squeaked ‘I don’t LIKE this!’ but managed to become stoic again and get to the bottom without tears or trauma!
We all stood (sat, in my case) outside for about ten minutes, with no sign of any fire engines to add to the excitement. Once we were let back in, the Gingerbread Man appeared again out of nowhere and wheeled me expertly to the lift. I asked him if he worked in the bakery – apparently not! Shame…
I have no clear idea how this injury and the recovery time is going to pan out yet, only that my vain hope I might be back at work the next day was a ridiculous notion. I’m veering wildly between the depths of despair and resigned acceptance. Sometimes back and forth between the two several times an hour.
Watch this space. I may need to blog myself sane over the next few days/weeks!