The Fear

Week 7

I’m so close to that ever important appointment where my cast comes off.  Or at least I hope I am.  Another x-ray may reveal I need more time in a cast….or they may decide that my foot needs sawing off period.  Sounds far-fetched I know, but 6 weeks of being out of action does allow silly thoughts to slip inside your head.  And this morning,  I seem to have woken up (after a rubbish night) full of fear.  I’ve flung open the blinds and the windows to let the sunlight and fresh air in, hoping it will clear my head.  It may be something to do with the fact that I hate Mondays anyway; it’s the day when everyone has gone back to school/college/work and I’m here alone for 8 hours or so after a weekend of hustle and bustle.  A big shout-out to those who live alone and are in this position.  You’re in my thoughts – a lot!

So I’m going to share my list of fears.  If I’m alone in these thoughts and you all think I’m a big scaredy cat then so be it, but I get the feeling that someone somewhere must have experienced these feelings at some point during their recovery.

  • I’m resentful of those that are helping me out and have taken over my old life.  That’s a big one for me to admit to.  I should be grateful – and I am, but I still feel jealous.
  • I watch people walk up and down my street and wish I’d been out and walked more (especially with my dog) while I had the chance.
  • I yearn to go out with a cup of tea this morning and sit in the sunshine on my decking.  But as it’s been raining it would be unsafe on crutches, and how the hell do I get the cup of tea outside?  Actually there is a simple answer to this; flask and backpack – but I’m feeling sorry for myself so bear with me please!
  • I’m worried that the first time I weight-bear my ankle with snap in two like a matchstick, or my talus will shift again (I had no surgery to pin it all together) and that I’ll be right back to square one!
  • I’m worried that I will always be in pain with a dodgy ankle forever and ever. Amen.
  • I’m worrying that when I go away on holiday in 4 months to a beautiful house we rent by the sea, that I’m not going to be able to go down the rather iffy, steep cliff path to get to the beach.  And if I do get down, that I won’t be able to get back up.  I’m currently picturing my husband having to fashion some sort of pulley system together to winch me up and down.
  • I’m worried that I won’t be able to enjoy the 80’s music festival that I’m going to for the weekend without being in pain.  Both my sister-in-law and I have paid a small fortune to Glamp there all weekend.
  • I’m worried this is all going to hold me back with my new job.
  • I’m worried I won’t have the strength required to get my disabled son in and out of the car.  This for some reason is the job that requires the most strength.  Anything else I can handle usually!

There is a saying, one that has held true for me for many years.  A hospice nurse was the first one to put it to me 20 years ago, when I was fretful how I would deal with my sons life-limiting condition (just as a side note, he’s now 21 with a totally different diagnosis and prognosis).  She told me these words, and I really need to hold onto those right now:

Don’t Try To Run Before You Can Walk.

Never has a saying rung truer than right now.  I really need to hold that close, get on with my recovery, and stop stressing about things that I actually very minimal – if any – control over right now.

Please know, that if you’re feeling the same….you’re not alone.

capture

Advertisements

Some kind of normality?

7am.  Husband is up and about.

Last night was the first night he actually shared a bed with me since the middle of last week.  I don’t know if it’s because right now he’s scared of kicking my leg in his sleep, or whether it’s because I’m a class A bitch to be around at the moment (I do have my nice moments though), or it may have been because he’s purely too tired by the time he’s finished meeting my barking demands and keeping everything else ticking over that he’s just fell asleep on the sofa downstairs.  Downstairs is the one part of the house that isn’t filled with my bossiness.  Maybe it’s become his own personal sanctuary.  Space to clear his head of the days events?

Or maybe he’s just being an arsehole.  I don’t know, and to be honest I haven’t really thought about it that much.  Trapped somewhere between the pure irritation and indignance of not being in control of my own life and responsibilities (How Dare life do this to me!), and at time big juicy bites of feeling sorry for myself, I’ve been purely selfish in my train of thought 99 per cent of the time.

The title of this blog is How to own a broken ankle.  You can take the title in two ways:

  1. How to own a broken ankle – and be a po-faced martyr, making everyone miserable in the process.
  2. How to OWN a broken ankle; be the boss of your own life even if you are hopping through it currently.  Hop through it with style, use the break to get on with your life in other ways, smile, find ways of coping. Take your painkillers like a good girl and GET ON WITH IT!

Currently I’m yet to reach stage 2.  I’ve found an amazing Facebook group filled with a few thousand folks that are in the same boat as me all in varying degrees.  Although I’m one of millions around the world currently in plaster, it still feels like I’m the only one.  I think that the only way to stop feeling this way is to get on with life.  And that has to start now.

9.43am.

I’m dressed, I’ve eaten and drank, I’ve taken meds.  I’m still upstairs.  I stood perched and unaided by my bedroom window looking out on the morning.  I’ve watched the lady across the road clean the inside of her windows, I’ve looked at the clouds and pondered the concept of chemtrails, and I’ve watched husband wheel our son into his car and take him off to college.  I’ve packed a bag that I will sling across my body containing the essentials I will need during the day – including my phone just in cast I get trapped in the lift…which is my biggest fear.   I’ve read another chapter of Apple Tree Yard (books are always better that anything on TV).  And here I am.  Still on the bed.  I think the excuse I’m using is the elbow crutches I am using are killing my left shoulder and therefore I should just stay put.  However, I’m determined to start living and resting in other parts of the house.  Anyone would think I’m contemplating boarding a plane whilst trying to deal with a fear of flying.  I’m just contemplating moving myself downstairs.  This is so ridiculous.

12.44pm.

I’ve been a busy girl.  I got downstairs in one piece to let the dog out….and then got one of my crutches caught round a chair leg whilst trying to close the door and took a tumble sideways again.  Luckily, I managed to avoid falling by hopping madly to the left…..and I stayed upright.  I swore at the chair, and demanded it’s removal.  I’ve been doing this a lot.  As well as the chair, I’ve demanded the removal of remote controls, bras on the floor (don’t ask), a trailing cable from an extension lead (this house is a health and safety nightmare it seems) and the dog for nearly tripping me over.

But time to put my proud hat on now.  Get ready for this:

  • I’ve washed up
  • I’ve cleaned the dogs bowls out and fed the dog
  • I’ve cleaned the kitchen sink
  • I’ve programmed the washing machine for later
  • I made myself a coffee and sat and drank it.

All this was achieved using the walking frame my Mum loaned me.  It has a seat, so I’m able to sit down and either pull myself around the kitchen or I can hop with it.  I think I may well not hop barefoot anymore though as it actually hurts.  I have some Skechers Go Walks in my wardrobe….I will fish those out as I think they may well help in a hopping situation.

By the end of this I was desperate to go back upstairs and lay down on the bed.  I’m in no hurry to go back down, but I’m getting kind of peckish, so I may nip back down , make myself a packed lunch and bring it back up.  Comfort is the call of order for the rest of the day I think.  But I still feel proud – and not so useless as I did when I started this post.

1.30pm.

I did it!  I made my packed lunch and brought it back up to bed.  Feel really sleepy now.

5pm.

Wow – where did the afternoon go?  Fell sound asleep, and now time to take my son to respite.  I seriously need to get out and about, so I’m going along for the ride.

8pm.

That didn’t go as planned.  Usual route was jammed with traffic.  Stuck for ages.  Ankle started to swell up inside cast.  While husband was checking son in to respite, I hobbled out of front seat and into back.  As soon as my foot was up, swelling went down.  I’m feeling knackered again.  This is bloody ridiculous.

9pm.

Pouring with rain, husband points out that my cast is going to get wet if I hobble round the back.  Getting up the front steps is out of the question.  His solution is to half carry, half drag me up the front steps.  Something makes a cracking noise…can’t tell if it’s my spine or his, and actually I’m beyond caring and so is he.  I know I will have to get to grips with the Sticks of Satan and slay the steps, but my shoulder is hurting so much it’s hard to see how I’m every going to master the ruddy things.

10.10pm

In bed, meds taken. Husband snoring.

I think I might take things a bit steadier tomorrow.  Like I should’ve done today.