Cracking on with it

Anyone that knows me will tell you that I’m usually always on the go.

I have 3 children to look after.  Although they aren’t small any more I’m still either giving lifts here there and everywhere, or doing the mound of washing that they keep well stacked.  My eldest keeps me especially busy.  My husband pretty much keeps himself to himself and works a lot – which is probably his saving grace for his own sanity as our home can become chaotic at times!

So, right now, off my feet, not being able to do anything really apart from stagger on the Sticks of Satan into the loo, is not really going down too well.  I  have mastered the art of having a wash sitting down – no biggie you might think, but actually turning yourself round on crutches and sitting yourself down on a chair is a craft that must be mastered in the early days of breaking anything from the waist down!  I have my shower stool and my cast cover and glory be, last night I managed to have a shower and wash my hair.  Oh the liberation!  I’ve been downstairs and sat in the kitchen while my daughter made a sandwich, and I’ve been in the living room twice – until my crutch slipped on the living room rug and I nearly went flying.  Mental note made to push the rug over by the window and avoid the area in general.

However tomorrow is the big day where I must become at least partially self-sufficient.  I am actually very pleased that our house is adapted for our eldest son, who’s mobility requirements are about as high as they come; level access, through floor lift, level access shower room and widened doorways.  I still live with this sense of dread that either the lift will get stuck (with me in it), or that I’ll slip over and break something else or heaven forbid that I’ll fall down the side of the loo again!  But the thing is I have to learn to manage this alone.  I have a few weeks yet of not operating on full power, so I need to pull myself together and sort my it out – and tomorrow will be the start, so please give me a thought.  I keep telling myself that others don’t have the luxury of having a husband to take over the caring role (albeit he’s moaning like hell about it – and at times expecting a medal or three for the simplest of tasks), so I have to yank myself up by the bra straps and crack on!

 

 

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