The dicky hip is fixed. Sorry I should have written before to say. Not really sure how it got fixed, but just like George Harrison sang, ‘All things must pass’ and so has the sore hip. I would like to think he was thinking about things like dicky hips when he wrote this song.
Anyway I digress, back to matters at hand. I am still under the security blanket care of my physio (Greg at W5 Physio, if you ever want a recommendation) who has today bestowed on me the last and final task of my recovery…hopping. And just like the first task when he set me the challenge of getting off my crutches it involved the horrible setting of the corridor of panic.
If someone asks you to hop, if you are of sane mind you will probably look confused. When I was asked to hop by Greg, just as he opened the door to the corridor of panic, then my look of confusion turned to something else.
Hopping is simple, it also makes you recall memories of youthful fun and carefree days. To some. To others (me) there first comes confusion of how to hop, (when it comes to my right leg these things needs thinking through), then comes, can I hop, then, will I land flat on my face, and then, let’s give it a go.
I have been tasked with hopping. Three metre length x ten times. I’ll keep you posted.
This week has been a little like going back in time. My leg is swollen and being in short, a bit of a shit.
That’s a technical term. Pain is easy to describe, but the niggles, aches and general aura that accompanies an ATR are, I find, more difficult, so I like to think of my leg as an extremely tempremental person. It’s ‘grumpy’, ‘unhappy’, ‘pissed off’, ‘tired and grouchey’, ‘so so’, ‘a bit of a shit’ and so on. Numerous states to describe something quite undescribeable.
I find it easier this way.
Anyway, I think the leg presses I did at the gym last week set it off. It was mildly unhappy over the weekend, but then that’s how it usually feels post workout. It wasn’t until I went to physio and he commented on the swelling and then massaged (also known as manhandling) it that it began to feel worse. If I had continued in blissful ignorance then all would still be in the state of ‘unhappy’ to ‘so so’ but when someone points at the problem its difficult to ignore.
A reduced light workout is on the cards for the next couple of weeks. I’ve worked the leg back from being pissed off before, I can do it again. We looked at ankle boots today at lunch, it seemed to help, slightly.
On the bright side I got to see an ultrasound of my leg on Monday, or ‘the massive gaping hole where my Achilles tendon used to be’. It basically looked like white noise.
This week saw my last visit to the Dr. Its been three months since I removed the boot, so to mark the occasion I headed back to the hospital to see my very lovely Dr for what I hoped was my last appointment.
On my journey over I thought if I was discharged would a thank you hug be too much? Is it allowed on the NHS? He is a lovely and he did fix my stupid leg, a hug isn’t too much is it, I thought? A handshake too formal and a simple ‘thank you’ not enough, its quite a quandary. I arrived to find my Dr was sunning himself on a beach somewhere rather than locked in a stuffy airless room ready to prod my leg and impart some words of wisdom. Hugging the Registrar would mean a quick call to Psyche so that decision was made for me. Perhaps a card and box of Roses?
Anyway back to the reason for my visit. After a quick look at the leg I was discharged. Just like that. Done. Finished. Nothing else to say, in the eyes of the medical community, my leg is fixed.
Physio will still continue for a couple of months, I’m a few weeks away from starting running. But apart from that I am healed.
If you are an avid reader of my blog you will remember the trials and tribulations of me getting off crutches. Actually it wasn’t a trial but I made it such into a drama that the writers of Eastenders called and asked me to join their team.
Well I now have my chapter 2. Single leg heel raises.
I was greeted with this request at the end of my physio appointment last night. Here was me, all smug, ‘..look I am now walking 98% normal’, ‘hey get me doing all my exercises, my knee moves this much now,’ then I was brought crashing down to earth with the news of my new homework. It doesn’t matter if you call it standing on your tippy toes it doesn’t make the fact any easier to swallow. I feel sick at the thought, in fact I am thankful I am typing this pre-lunch.
My next physio appointment is next week so I have at least seven days worth of angst to draw this out on my blog as I attempt to do something which is extremely simple, that I know my leg can do but because I am massively stubborn and need new material for here I will blow into titanic proportions.
I may turn to drink, in fact quite timely it’s World Gin Day this Saturday.
Single leg heel raises + gin = match made in heaven.
Since I kicked one crutch away last weekend everything has started to move a lot quicker, including me.
I have in no particular order…walked to physio, navigated the London underground system, mastered an escalator and gone back to the office. I am down to zero wedges in my boot, I think there is a Latin word for this, but as English escapes me most days…
If I was pregnant this would probably be called my ‘nesting’ phase as I prep for birth. In this instance the birth is my appointment with my surgeon next Tuesday and the potential for me to wear two shoes. In honour of this momentous occasion I have brought a new pair of Nikes, I am so pleased the fashion elite have deemed trainers as this season’s shoe du jour. They will be graced by some Tom Cruise style heel inserts, I’ve always wanted to be a couple of inches taller.
I’ve gone back to work part-time, day on day off and out of rush hour. It was bizarre to back in the middle of Covent Garden. I was found slowly wandering in awe outside the office by a colleague. I’m pleased that I haven’t lost all my London etiquette skills and even with a boot and crutch I still stand on the right on the escalators.
In four days a great deal has happened, I wonder what the next four will bring. I am now bookable for coffee, adventures, run-ins and general things you can do on two feet.
I’m down to one crutch so this morning I made myself a cuppa and carried it. No flasks, backpacks or faff.
When it comes to getting off crutches, I have accepted I am a late bloomer. I should have been walking a while ago but for reasons unknown I just couldn’t get it. On Friday my Physio took a crutch away and asked me to walk down the corridor. I’m an options person so I would have taken anything, anything else other than do this. I tried, I hopped, shuffling, cheated, did everything but successfully walk with one crutch. I nearly cried but the practical part of me knew tears would blur my vision and unstable me further.
I was sent off with the advice of not to think about it. Stand, march on the spot and try to walk but don’t think about it.
The former was done with gusto – its amazing what you can do when you have Grazia to occupy your mind.
I tried walking on Saturday, the steps flowed better but would still have been judged as a hop by anyone. Failure.
On Sunday morning I tried it again and it just clicked. I don’t know why, how or what but it just made sense and before I knew it I was walking around my flat and then before I knew that I was walking around a pub with a pint of cold cider.
Who knew these things could happen??
I have mainly had good weeks throughout my injury. Some days I’ve been in pain, I get angry that I can’t get around, I feel isolated – my friends don’t live just around the corner, but it’s always been short-lived. I’ve never had really bad days. In fact I don’t think I have cried at all about my injury or recovery. Actually I nearly cried when I couldn’t get off the train last week but gave myself a stern talking to and I was fine.
This week though, is hard. My leg hurts for the first time in ages, I am looking at being off work for another 2-3 weeks and I am really struggling to get off my crutches. The latter I can’t fathom, I just can’t work out how to get off them, or even get off just one.
I’m quite logical and like to work out things in my head first, this is helpful when you are on crutches as I mentally work out my route or what I need to do first and then do it. But I cannot for the life of me work this one out and the thought of several more weeks of this is maddening. I also made a deal with my Dr that I would walk into my next appointment which is on 23rd.
I’ve Googled, You Tubed but I still can’t ‘get it’. Time is ticking.
I’m lucky, I know there aren’t many people that can face something like this and feel okay, I can’t really explain why, maybe I am dead inside. Do Bupa cover this?