Living with a broken foot

Here endeth this blog; 256 days on of Living with a Broken Foot

2012-07-14T11:54:00.001+01:00

256 days on and this is it! This is my last blog post. (Well, maybe I will update this is on November 3rd 2012 which is exactly a year since I fell and broke my stupid foot.) However, definitely that last for a while anyway.Why? Because I have finally got my life back!

Thankfully, I am at a point in my life that I never thought I would get to. After breaking my foot back in November, I have been on an emotional roller coaster and for the most part, I have felt like I was right at the bottom of the very big hill. Seriously, round about January time, I could see no end to the suffering and thought that I would be unable to walk ever as I just could not see how it was going to be possible. Of course, my foot is not fully repaired. It has a fair number of scars on and my toes still won't support me but I am pretty much back to normal and actually feeling better than ever before. I have also learnt a few things along the way too.
First, being stuck in the house for so long and not being able to walk has made me appreciate things more. Not being a naturally active person, I used to quite enjoy walking but could not really be bothered. Now I really enjoy it and me and Nick have been on lots of walks to try to build up my stamina. Because of the recent rain here, I have been walking through lots of mud which is a really strange sensation. My foot still does not feel strong enough to hold me properly, so sliding around in the mud is quite unnerving but fun at the same time! I am waiting for the time when I go sliding on my backside but it hasn't happened yet. All this walking has had it's downsides. A few weeks ago, we got a bit lost and I had to climb over a gate. It became very close to me being impaled on the top of it as I found it so difficult to do in addition to being very ungraceful! Thankfully, only Nick was around to witness it!
Appreciating things more may have sent me a bit mad. When we are out walking, I will stand for ages and listen to the birds. Maybe it's just because I spent so long in doors but I just love it. Also there have been key moments that have made me so happy that I have just burst in to tears. One of these was when I went to my favourite place, Robin Hood's Bay on the North Yorkshire Coast. Hills and steep steps make up this seaside village so I was convinced that I would never be able to got there again. When we arrived there, I was so happy, tears came streaming from eyes and I sobbed uncontrollably for a while.
A couple of weeks ago, I began my gradual return to work and yes, it has made me actually look forward to being there! (Yes, as I mentioned before, the cabin fever has possible affected my sanity!) My first visit to work had me so worried and I was crying in the car on the way there. However, when I got through the door, I realised that very little had changed since I had been off. Also, I had to tell a child off for being rude which made me feel like every thing was back to normal and I had not forgotten what to do. However, I had forgotten how much I actually have to stand up and after just a morning, my heels really hurt so that is something that I will have to get used to.
My toilet, or being able to get upstairs quick enough to reach it, is probably one thing that I really appreciate too. Having to pee on a camping toilet then a commode in the back room for so long, as well as dropping the phone in the camping toilet, have not been some of my finest moments. The day the hospital came to take the commode away was truly a glorious one!
Getting dressed is also something that I really enjoy now for I now know that, unless I have been guzzling too much gin, I know that am not going fall over and sustain a head injury by doing some thing as simple as putting a pair of trousers on!
Finally, I have found out who really cares about me. I have found there are a few people who have let me down and have not been there when I needed them. This sounds like a bad thing but it really isn't. From this, I have learnt not to waste my time over some people and this leaves me more time for others. The real positive of this is that I have found that I have some amazing people around me who have helped me through this mess. Luckily, I have a close family who I could not have managed with out. Also, previously I have mentioned my other half, Nick, who has been incredible and I thank everyday that I have him around me. In addition to this, I have found that I have some true friends who have done their best to help me through this. All the phone calls, texts, emails, visits and awkward trips out with my wheelchair or crutches have really been appreciated.(You guys know who you are, thank you so much x.)
Anyway, I would really like to thank anyone who has taken the time to read about me and my trials and tribulations. This blog became a bit of a life line and knowing that people were reading it made me feel less alone and slightly more positive. I began this blog after I found a website about broken feet that, although it helped me a bit, had lots of comments from people saying about how bad everything was. Yes, it has been bad, but reading all of that made me feel so depressed so I tried to write a blog with a bit of humor as some of my happenings have been very amusing. I really hope that I have made some of you laugh, even if it is just one of you. Thanks again for taking the time to read.
256 days on of living with a broken foot; here endeth this blog. I now have happy feet! x

Happy Feet!

Cycling towards to light.

2012-06-15T18:54:00.003+01:00

The light is definitely at the end of the tunnel. In fact it is so near that I can almost touch it! I am still finding it hard to believe that a few months ago, I was unable to walk. However, now a certain type of exercise is changing my life!

Just over a month ago, I attended one of my many physiotherapy sessions. As I previously mentioned, physio was not quite what I thought it was going to be. However, as time goes along and I can do more, it is becoming more and more frustrating at the little things that I can't do. For example, I can lift myself up on just my toes with both feet and my right foot on it's own. However, as stupid as it sounds, when I try with my left foot, it just won't work. Go on. You try it now. Imagine the frustration when one foot just won't lift up off the floor. Walking was also seeming to be a problem.
As I began to do very small walks, I noticed that my legs were becoming very stiff and achy and after mentioning it to my physiotherapist, she said I need to warm my muscles up before I go for a walk. Her suggestion was for me to get an exercise bike. Well, no actually, she asked me first if I had an exercise bike. Amazed at the question to which I could have answered, "Do I look like I have ever even sat on an exercise bike?", I just told her that I did not have one but may look into it. (Obviously, I came away with no intention of looking for one!)
Returning home gave me an even bigger shock when I laughed and I told Nick what she said. He surprised me by saying we should get a bike as you can't put a price on rehabilitation! Damn. I did not want an exercise bike! I did not want one parked in my house and to be honest, was very unsure that my backside, that has grown considerable in the past few months, would even fit on one! Needless to say, four days later we had a lovely exercise bike parked in the living room! There was no getting away from it.
Trying to cycle, for just a couple of minutes before I went out for a walk, was a real chore. In fact after just 2 minutes of cycling, I was so exhausted that I thought I would not have enough energy to even walk! However, much to my dismay (and almost disappointment) it really worked. Walking was beginning to feel a bit easier.
After being sat on my backside for such a long time, as I have mentioned before, I suffered serious muscle wastage. Muscle has wasted away where I did not think there was ever muscle to start with and my body is just a big wobble! The exercise bike has a clever little counter that works out how many calories you have burn off so this, as much as I hate to say it, was ideal. I could attempt to build up the muscle, walk better as well as lose weight. It was perfect. (Maybe a miracle if it works but don't want to sound like a pessimist.)
That evening, after I had my tea I felt like a snack in the form of chocolate. The penguin biscuits were calling from the cupboard so I checked the calorie content and found that it was 106 calories. Not much so must be easy to burn off, I thought. Normally, I would just stuff my face with it and in ten minutes forget that I had even eaten it, but not this time. No, I was going to work for it. Confidently, I sat on the exercise bike and began peddling. Afer more and more peddling, I checked the calorie counter. Was it faulty? How come I had only burnt off 27 calories? I was exhausted and was not even half way to achieving my chocolate. About 8 minutes later, I climbed off the bike having achieved my 106 calories. To be honest, I nearly fell off the bike as my legs were aching so much and I now not only limped, but limped like John Wayne when he just stepped off a horse! My backside felt like I had been sat on a razor blade! But I tell you what, I really enjoyed that penguin biscuit!
Exercise has always bored me and this was no exception so I have had to be inventive to make sure that I use the bike to exercise a bit more. A few weeks on, I found the solution. Now, not only do I sit on the exercise bike whilst watching T.V., I also sit on a cushion to save my aching bum. The final and crucial part of the enjoyment comes in the form of gin. Cycling feels so much easier when watching T.V and drinking gin and tonic at the same time! (and at only 53 calories I can have 2 gin and tonics instead of a penguin biscuit)
Cycling really seems to be helping me now and I am getting stronger and stronger with burning off 106 calories not feeling too bad. I feel like I am finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel that I was thrown into back in November. Gracefully, I am cycling towards the light at the end of the tunnel, complete with a gin and tonic in my hand!

Breakdown in Asda

2012-05-17T16:54:00.002+01:00

Don't over do it. That's what people keep saying to me and, to be quite honest, it really REALLY annoys me. I have been practically sat on my ever expanding derriere for 6 months. I did not put my left foot down for 4 and half of those months. I have hardly been over-doing it. However, I take it back. I am an idiot who should have listened to all those annoying people as I discovered the other Friday, although will still refuse because 1. they have not suffered the way that I have (woe is me etc. etc) and 2. because I am subborn!

My physio has been going really well but what I have found is that I can not believe how exhausting it is. Unfortunately, the day straight after my physio, I have noticed a pattern that goes like this: Wake up. Put my feet down to on the floor. Groan at how they both ache. Stagger (yes, I look like I drank 10 pints last night) to the toilet. Sit on the toilet for a long time contemplating life. Realise that I actually feel like I drank 10 pints. Go back to bed. Wake up again a few hours later. Decide that life is passing me by so attempt to get up. Stagger downstairs. Lay on the sofa. Moan. Do nothing.
It seems to be the same every week, I am just exhausted but it seems so ridiculous.
Anyway, the other week, my physiotherapist told me I had to stop using the walking boot and had to get used to just walking with my crutches. Hurray! No more looking like Forrest Gump. However, this was easier said than done. For a start, shoes has been as issue. I can not really get any on my massive foot so had to resort to a pair of sandals and pray that it did not get too cold. (Sandals and socks is never a good look and I don't care how my feet feel. I still have a bit of pride left!) Beginning to stagger about hurt just about every bone in my body but I had to push through that pain barrier. Walking round the block with Nick helped to build up a bit of stamina but I was really shocked at how far I walked before I got tired. Believe me when I say it really wasn't far. However, after a while, I decided that the real test would be to go to Asda and walk round with the crutches instead of driving round on a scooter. It was an exciting prospect!
Going round Asda felt good but I forgot that I could not carry anything because of the crutches so had to resort to trailing behind Nick as he pushed the trolley. He got what we needed and I just did...erm.... nothing! Towards the end of the trip, it hit me. That awful wave of tiredness that makes you feel like you have been running a marathon then hit a brick wall. It was the strangest feeling but it even effected my arms and I could hardly move. Managing to stagger to the checkout, Nick began to put the food on the conveyor belt as I stood at the other end waiting to pack it into bags. Well, the checkout man must have decided to play a cruel game on me and throw the food down the checkout as quickly as possible. Piling up at the bottom of the checkout, the food began squash and clatter as I frantically tried to cram everything into the bags. However, my 'frantically' seemed to be a normal person's 'go slow'. It was all too much for me. My arms did not want to work and my head would not communicate with them. I could not think what to do, my legs hurt and I felt like I just could have collapsed in a heap. Whilst Nick began undoing the mess I had made, I did the only thing that I felt capable of doing. I stood and CRIED! Tears rolling down my face, I attempted to hold back from breaking into a full on wail as Nick silently packed the shopping. If I did not look a little bit pathetic then, I never would.
Finally, we got to the car and I just sat and had a proper old bawl. Unsurprisingly, me and Nick did not discuss what had happened. He was probably too embarrassed, as was I!
The subject of my 'breakdown in Asda came up later on and we decided perhaps I had overdone it. It comes to something when you can't even walk round a supermarket without over doing it.
We've not been to the supermarket since. Maybe next time, I will just fall on the floor and have a tantrum instead! I'm sure that would be less embarrassing.

No longer broken but not quite right and off to physiotherapy

2012-04-24T13:58:00.003+01:00

Finally, 174 days in and I had my first physiotherapy appointment. Today was going to be another exciting day and I was really looking forward to making progress. I mean, its only been 6 weeks since the screws came out of my foot. Surely, being able to walk is not asking too much?

The first part of the appointment involved me filling in more forms with questions such as: What is your worst symptom and what do want to gain out of physiotherapy? Erm.... well, my worse symptom is that I have a foot and ankle with scars and dints all over it, a foot that is the size of a house and, oh did I mention, it won't work? What do I want to gain? Well, I would like to be able to walk like I did before and be able to actually wear a pair of shoes. These sort of ridiculous questions are the sort of thing that I would be expecting to do if I was signing up for some sort of on-line course where I would not actually see a living, breathing person, not when I would be seeing a physiotherapist in about 5 minutes time who would have all my details already.
After finally meeting the physiotherapist, what really surprised me was the amount of talking I had to do. Believe me, the amount that I can talk, I would normally be very happy at this and probably asked to do my own therapy classes of how to talk for extended periods of time about absolutely nothing. However, after having a cold for a week, not only do I have a constant trail of snot coming out of my nose, my throat hurts and my voice has developed it's own distinct tone. Talking this much seemed to be a real strain especially when I sound like a cross-breed of 80's pop star Bonnie Tyler and a character from Alvin and the Chipmunks. Wondering if maybe the hospital had lost my records, once again I had to tell the story of how I broke my foot, how long I had not walked for and how I was managing now, all whilst trying to sneakily stop my nose from dribbling without a tissue.
Sitting on a hospital bed, I sat wondering when my exercises were going to start. Maybe I was expecting too much but I had visions of me holding onto gym bars whilst trying to walk or somehow bouncing on a trampoline. Having seen this sort of thing on T.V, I realised that I have perhaps watched too many tragic programmes resulting in someone who had to learn to walk again. Am thinking now that they might be a tad unrealistic! Instead, the physiotherapist made me stay sat on the bed whilst she pushed and pulled my swollen foot in every direction possible. It ached a lot and some of the movements just were not happening. I then had to stand up and attempt to walk. Wobbling and toppling from side to side, I looked like a right idiot. This lasted all of about 10 seconds before I could not do any more. She then asked me what I find difficult to do. How about walking?! Obviously!
Finally, I was asked to stand on one foot and my automatic reaction was to lift up my left leg (the good one). When I realised that she actually meant to try and stand on my poor left foot, I looked at her as if she had asked me to put my knickers on my head. Did she really mean it? Apparently she did. Holding onto a pole, a carefully lifted up my right leg. Perhaps when I was made, I was wired up wrong because as I did this, other parts of my body did strange things. My right hand began to shake and I began crying like a baby and oh yes, gallons of snot poured out of my nose! Shocked that I had actually managed to stand on this foot, I put it foot down and very nearly collapsed onto the bed. She told me it was a perfectly normal reaction if I had not stood on that foot for so long. (I think she had not noticed my streaming nose!)
The physiotherapist told me that it could take anything up to a year until my foot feels like my own. Well, that made me feel positive! At least she was honest but it looks like I may have an alien foot for a while longer. I am no longer broken but not quite right, sort of in between. Physio felt very weird, and the running machine and swing bars that I was expecting were nowhere to be seen! Maybe this was a good job judging by the amount of gunk that was pouring out of my nose at the slightest bit of movement. Hopefully next week, my hospital notes may have turned up.

Moving on up (or walking) with a repaired broken foot

2012-04-03T12:25:00.000+01:00

It's been a while, my faithful blog readers. Why has it been so long, I hear you cry? Well, I have been too busy W-A-L-K-I-N-G! Maybe a slight exaggeration. What I've been doing can hardly be called 'walking'. Currently, I make Forrest Gump look like an Olympic athlete but I really feel like my life has taken a U turn and am on the uphill journey, finally! Here's how I got there;

The day of the dreaded operation to have the 4 screws removed from my foot, seems so far away but then again, don't you seem to remember the horrible experiences more than the pleasant ones? Thanks to my wonderful mum, my operation was quickly re-scheduled, therefore moving it to a different, smaller hospital and what a difference that made. The whole experience was so much better than the last operation. All the way along, I was told what was going to happen including the fact that I would be home that day. Thank God! However, the thing that impressed me the most was that I was given 2 hospital gowns to wear, one for the front and one for the back. This meant that if I got up, anybody in the near vicinity would not be subject to the view of my rather ample, wobbly backside nestling in the pair of attractive paper knickers!
Before I knew it, I was being wheeled away to be put to sleep. Just like on the last operation, I am ashamed to say that my wimpy persona took over and I was crying and shaking like a leaf. The anaesthetist described it as 'a large glass of Chardonnay' and I was not sure if it was the gas or the drugs that were being pumped into my veins, but those 5 seconds before I went to sleep felt amazing. I was floating and I distinctly remember saying, 'That's nice,' before I nodded off.
The next thing that I knew was I was coming round and being asked if I wanted a cup if tea and a biscuit. After not eating and drinking for the past 14 hours, my mouth felt like a scabby donkey and that cup of tea could have been a cup of wee for all I cared. I guzzled it down like there was no tomorrow.
A little while later, the physio came round, made my put on my mega walking boot onto my bandaged foot and made me walk using crutches but on both feet! Feeling like I should have some music playing in the background, something emotional like a Snow Patrol song, I nervously took my first steps. Terrified, doesn't even cover it. My right leg did not want to move off the floor, knowing that all the weight would be put on to my bad foot. I had not walked for 4 and a half months so I wasn't too convinced that it was going to happen, but it did! No, I was not walking like I did before, but I stood on both feet and moved. I think I had some sort of hormone implant put in during the first operation because now I am far too emotional and cry at the drop of a hat. Walking felt particularly emotional and, predictably, I cried again.
Since then, I have been practising my 'walking', mainly in my giant boot. Luckily, there is a pub about 10 doors up from my house so my walking has centred around that with a reward at the end! (However, it is still difficult to get even that far.) I look like a right idiot in my big boot on but I don't care any more. It has been like a breath of fresh air, quite literally as I have been able to get out of the house a bit. It is still going to be a long journey and I know I will not be walking properly for a long while yet but it is definitely a step in the right direction. (Please excuse the pun)
After all of this, I was not expecting my life to get much better but a final delight came last week when, after being proud of me and my efforts at trying to walk, Nick finally gave in and let me have my way. Yes, he let me ride a mobility scooter around Asda! I had to walk across the car park to get there so think I earned it. It was great but hilarious as Nick walked quite a few paces in front, I think out of sheer embarrassment. They are quite speedy and beep really loud when reversing. If you happen to frequent an Asda in the north of England and hear of a mobility scooter crash by a woman who has been abandoned by her 'carer', don't be too surprised if I am somehow involved!

The A to Z of Me and a Broken Foot: Part 3

2012-03-22T12:49:00.001+00:00

Thankfully, my operation last Friday actually happened and here I am, out the other side and alive! There is still along way to go but I feel like my straight jacket has been loosened slightly. I intend to blog about the operation experience later on. (Mainly because if I do it all at once, I will run out of things to blog about and have to drag out the one that I have written in reserve about how I am loosing my mind with boredom)
Therefore, for your enjoyment is the third and final part of The A to Z of Me and a Broken Foot.
Enjoy and forward to others if you have liked this so far x

S is for Steps
Sherlock Holmes had Moriati, Superman had Lex Luther, Luke Skywalker had Darth Vadar. All these characters had their own nemesis. Well, my nemesis has been steps. No, not the dreadful 90's British pop group (that I will not really admit to having their greatest hits!) but real up and down going steps. They can be big, small, step, narrow, concrete or carpeted. Whatever type they are, they are evil. When I looked up the word 'nemesis', I discovered a comic book character with that name and found that, 'Nemesis has one simple goal; Make the lives of the best cops a hellish nightmare.' Steps do this this to anyone who is 'broken'. A hellish nightmare! Tackling steps almost seems an impossibility and I often stand staring at them for a long time as if I was expecting a Stannah Stairlift to miraculously appear on them. Needless to say, it never does. Boo to steps. Bring on the bungalow!

T is for Twitter
During the past 140 days I discovered Twitter. I never really 'got it' before but now I do and I love it. It keeps me up to date with world events so I don't have to depress myself watching the news everyday. It also makes me laugh, teaches me new things as well as gets me in contact with new people. A big shout out to any one who can be bothered to follow me but especially to Joe, Christine, Beck, Kate and June. They are all 'broken' people at different stages of recovery who I have been 'talking' to. We share stories and I feel that these guys have really helped me along the way. Joe said something not so long back that he felt that, apart from the person he lived with, it felt like the only people who exist in the world are people on Twitter as he had little contact with anyone else. That is truly how it feels so, as sad as it seems, my life would be even more dull without Twitter.

U is for Under the weather
Having a few episodes of feeling under the weather, on top of having a broken foot was like being tortured. I think I would rather have everyone one of my teeth extracted than feel ill in addition to being visited by the Foot of Doom. On this note, all I can say is if you want to complain to me about your snivelling nose or the spot on your chin, you do so at your own risk!

V is for Vampire
Simple fact, I am one! No, I am not one of those who dresses like a goth all the time and really believes that they are one because they have a fixation with Robert Pattinson. (My fixation with Robert Pattinson is perfectly healthy, honest!) However, my skin has always been quite pale but after over 4 months of very little sunlight, it is so pasty white that I reckon Dracula might want me for a girlfriend. Last week, it was a lovely day outside and I wanted to sit out in it. It took me 15 minutes to drag a chair to the front door and as I sat on the pavement, I did think that if I was playing a musical instrument, I would have looked like a beggar. But I did not care. Basking in the sun, I really enjoyed myself as people walked past me and gave a sneaky stare and dogs sniffed at my legs. However, when I went inside 45 minutes later, my hands and arms had developed a heat rash similar to the one I experienced in Turkey when it was 30 degrees. It's true; a broken foot has turned me into a vampire.

Nick and Me?

W is for Wheelchair
When you think of a wheelchair, freedom isn't one of the words that also springs to mind. However, my wheels have allowed me a few outings, mainly to the supermarket, but nonetheless they have prevented me from becoming a total hermit. It has also provided entertainment for small children who seem to think it is a climbing frame as well as giving enjoyment to friends who like to compare me to a 'Little Britain' character. The less said about that, the better!

X is X-ray
Having a few of these now has not got boring but I am still especially proud of my X-ray that shows the metal work that was in my foot (until the last operation).

Y is Yawning
There seems to be a lot of yawning going on at the moment. If I'm not yawning because I am tired from vigorous activity like trying to make a cup of tea, I am yawning because I am bored. It's a wonder that I have not developed lock-jaw. Also, I reckon that when anyone finishes talking to me, they are yawning from listening to 'Tales of the Foot of Doom.' Can't say I blame them. Had I mentioned that I was bored too?
Z is Zumba
Zumba- simple as, it's not happening! :)

The A to Z of Me and a Broken Foot: Part 2

2012-03-15T13:00:00.000+00:00

Better news. My operation is now on Friday morning (thanks to my mum-see 'M is for') so hopefully I will be on the road to recovery soon.
Anyway straight into 'The A to Z of Me and a Broken Foot: Part 2'

M is for Mum
Throughout my trauma of having a broken foot, my mum and dad have been great. My mum has been especially great and I have never felt like I have needed her more than now. She comes to see me, help me with things around the house that I can't do, brought me things that I need and has even removed the nail varnish from my toes that I could not reach! Without fail, she has been on the end of the phone to listen to my moaning and has also been there to give me a hug when it has all got too much for me, in the only way that a mum can. She knows when I need to talk and a bit of sympathy but she also knows when not to talk about my stupid foot and change the subject. This week, she played a blinder when I got the news of my operation being cancelled. Being in a bit of a state, I was unable to even speak coherently to ask why it had been cancelled. Mum managed to speak to someone in her calm manner and explain how devastated I was, hence me being put in for surgery on Friday. I can never thank my wonderful mum enough for everything that she has done for me and the Foot of Doom.

N is for Nick
If this was a generic A to Z then N would be for Non-Weight Bearing. However, this is my A to Z so it has to be for my other half, Nick. Calling him a legend is an understatement. How he puts up with me, I will never know, now more than ever. Since I broke my foot he has become a waiter, a nurse, a cook, a home help, a taxi driver and a shoulder to cry on. He never complains about what he has to do or how much I get fed up. (When I say he never complains, I mean he doesn't complain to me. The likelihood is that he probably vents his frustration with other people but I can't say I blame him. I don't hear him, so I don't know!) Am thinking about writing to the queen and asking him to be put on the New Year's honours list as I know how much he will like that!

O is for Old Age Pensioner
The Foot of Doom has doubled my age to that of a pensioner. I now sup more tea than ever, and especially love my 9pm cuppa. My fondness for elasticated waist trousers has grown, I sit sewing and can not leave the house without help. My cleaner has become more like a home help as I look forward to her finishing her duties and sitting down with me for a drink and a chat. I also have been absent from work, which I am seriously not enjoying (never thought I would say that!) so feel like I am retired. My body will get an awful shock when I have to go back and will also have to buy some more trousers!

P is for Pain
Obviously my foot has given me quite a lot of pain but I have had other pain too. Initially, I had pain in my hands and shoulders from the crutches. This was followed my pains in my right leg from taking all the weight. Now my rear end hurts from being sat on it constantly. Then there is the hip pain and.....YAWN! You get the picture. All in all, I am being a right old pain in the backside! Sometimes I feel like I am walking advert for paracetomols however if I was, I would suggest that they change their advertising strategy!

Q is for Quick
Why 'Quick'? Well, because with a broken foot, nothing is every quick! Getting dressed, even with practice, takes time. Mainly this is for fear of getting my foot caught in my knickers and breaking my neck or landing in my commode. If I cook or bake, it is a good 3-4 hour stint. It took me 3 hours to bake some very simple biscuits mainly because I have to slide about the kitchen on a chair as well as hang myself over the top of the fridge door to get anything out of it. God forbid if I drop anything! A rogue tomato fell out of the fridge the other day and rolled down the step. Poor Mr Tomato had to stay there until Nick came home as I knew that if I tried to get it, I would be more likely to fall head first right into it and spend my afternoon cleaning up.

R is for Running
'You will be running in no time!' People have said this to me in order to cheer me up. In fact, I have even said this to other people about myself to do the same. Who am I kidding? Is this because I am worried about my foot and think that it is not going to recover? Not really! Before I was graced with the Foot of Doom, running to answer the door could nearly be the onset of a heart attack for me. What on earth makes me, or anyone else for that matter, think that I am going to be running soon? Insanity has obviously set in as part of the cabin fever.

Part 3 to follow, if I make it out of my operation in one piece!

The A to Z of Me and a Broken Foot: Part 1

2012-03-12T18:10:00.001+00:00

Major set back today. My operation that was due today, to have screws from my foot removed, was cancelled this morning due to lack of beds. After a bad nights sleep, worrying and fasting, devastated is putting it mildly. I won't go into detail because I have to move on from this so have decided to write something else. Reading a magazine today, I came across an article called, " the A to Z of you". On another day, this may have made me laugh but today all I could see was 'D is for Dancing, K is for Killer Heels'. Next, hitting my eyeline was; A for Ambition, E for Ethical, P for Portfolio Careers'. Erm...vomitous! Do you catch my drift? I began to think about my own A to Z, so here is: The A to Z of ME and a Broken Foot.

A is for Arse
Arse, ass or however you like to put it, mine is a major part of me! Not only do I spend copious amounts of time sat on it, it has changed. One side is rather ample but relatively sturdy whilst the other side resembles a big bag of jelly. Not normal!

B is for Bag
Carrying anything in my hands is impossible as I need t o hang onto crutches, so I wear a handbag around the house across my chest like an 80s mum, dancing at a wedding. Very attractive

C is for Crutches
My life line but it took about a month to stop them aching my arms and hands. If you have never used crutches, don't ever comment about them until you have tried some. My dad tried after thinking it would be easy and he managed 3 steps before saying his arms hurt. Oh yes, and try them in the rain too!

D is for Dead Skin
With the amount of dead skin that came off my foot and leg, when the pot came off, I could have probably reconstructed it to form a pair of very pink, rubbery wellies.

E is for Excitement
These days, excitement comes in very small packages! The postman, a text message, the cleaner or even discovering a new 'Come Dine With Me' style programme that I have not seen before. Even the good old celebrity gardener, Alan Titchmarsh is playing his part! It's all sounding a bit tragic now.

F is for Friends & Family
Having a broken foot certainly proves who your friends are. There are some people who I thought cared but have not been there when I needed them. However, thankfully, I have also found that I have some fantastic friends and family who really care and have gone out of their way for me. Thanks everyone x

G is for Giant or Go-go Gadget.
To reach a lot of things in the house without having an accident, I either need to be giant or grow some 'Go-Go Gadget-Arms'! I really want some!

H is for Hospital
Apart from Asda, the hospital is the where I know seem to spend my social life. It's that bad that I even recognise injured people that were there at the same time as me! I am like a stalker for the injured. My life is just a social whirlwind!

I is for Injuries
Aside from the obvious injured foot, I have also had a variety of 'broken foot related injuries'. These are mainly somehow linked to falling over. However, my latest classics are;1) Missing the chair in the bathroom and landing on my un-booted, broken foot putting full weight on my toes and nothing else.(Yes, it really hurt). 2) Bashing my toes on my crutches causing my little toe to bleed, alot! 3) Head butting my front door when I was trying to shut it.
I think the NHS needs to open a hospital just for me and my injuries.

J is for Jumble Sale
Judging by the amount of things I have managed to accumulate to help me with my broken footedness, I may have to hold a jumble sale. Amongst many things, including a sharps bin, an arm chair work out DVD, a wheel chair, a foot spa, resistance exercise bands, flexible ice packs, decorated wheelchair gloves, 2 pairs of crutches and a shower cast cover, you will also find a very large selection of odd socks. (I keep finding them everywhere)

K is for Kitchen - a place of danger
My broken foot has altered me back to the mind set of a child where I think that the kitchen is a dangerous place. Nearly all of my accident (apart from the toilet related ones!) have happened in the kitchen. Maybe I should stay out of there.

L is for Lonely
Being 'broken' can get really lonely. During the day last week, I saw 5 people the whole time. Nick, the cleaner, my mum and 2 sofa delivery men. Like I said, a social whirlwind!

L is for Lisfranc
Yes, I know. An extra 'L' but this is the name of the type of fracture I have. As per usual, I don't like to do things by halves and if you look it up, you will find it is quite complicated!

That's the end of part 1 so part 2 to come later. See if you can think of any others for me!

Heavenly water for a broken foot

2012-03-08T14:35:00.000+00:00

The day that I returned home with the Foot of Doom MINUS the pot was absolutely exhausting. No, I don't need the excitement of going out any more. All I need is a trip to the hospital to take me on an emotional rollercoaster and feel like if I left the house again, it would be enough of a thrill to give me a near on heart attack.

Obviously, I was traumatised on discovering that I needed another operation. Talking to people, who have not been through anything like this, is always interesting as I think that people find this predicament a bit difficult to grasp, as I would and, in all honesty, still do. Even my own dad, who otherwise has been great through all this, asked me," Surely you can put your foot down, just a bit?" No, not even a bit! For 4 months, my left foot has not been able to touch the floor and has been wrapped in a variety of different pots so, despite my concerns about starting to walk again, the thought of putting this off even longer really upset me.

Anyway, next came the feeling of being inquisitive and relieved. The plan was to get me home and to have a bath, which I have not been able to do, but first there was the matter of the disgusting foot. Underneath my foot was a plastic looking layer of skin resembling crusty meat. There was no way on earth that I was getting into a bath with the prospect of huge lumps of my foot chugging around in the water. Wondering what would happen when I put my foot in the water was the question on my mind as I hopped up to the bathroom. Nick put some warm water in the bath and watched as I sat on the edge of the bath, trousers rolled up like I was paddling in the sea, dangling my feet into the water. Next, inquisitiveness took over me and I couldn't help myself. Imagine that you had the biggest juiciest spot of the end of your nose and you knew that once you squeezed it, it would be gross but very satisfying and would then be gone. Well, that was me. I just had to pick, pick, pick at my Parma ham foot. How did it feel? After 4 months of being in a pot, it can not put it any other way than to say it was bloody wonderful! If you will, picture a crystal clear pond with lily pads floating across it. That was what my bath looked like (apart from instead of lily pads floating, it was lots of pieces of my foot, including the scabs from the incisions, sitting on top of the water. Nice).

Next came the cringing moment. Knowing what a big job I now had, I had to ensure I had the correct tools for the task. Yes, a new razor was needed to cut through the carpet that had become my left leg. Realising that I may have been better with hedge strimmers to do the job, I did the best I could and was left with quite a sore leg and still clumps of hair remaining that I would slice on another day.

Next came the most glorious bath that I had ever had in my life. Music, a drink and far too many bubbles, I was in heaven. I phoned my mum, squealing, "I'M IN THE BATH!" (and then had to spoil it by giving her the bad news about my operation) Relaxing in the bath felt so amazing that I lost all track of time and an hour and twenty five minutes later, I had to shout Nick to help me get out of the bath as I was I was beginning to resemble a wrinkly prune.

Feeling sparkly clean, I slid down the stairs on my clean, but wobbly bottom and felt truly exhausted. How could I be so tired? I had not exactly had a strenuous day. My final treat was the following day when my foot spa arrived. More bubble heaven for my poor foot. One of the plus points of me breaking my foot is that I have realised how important feet are and know that I have to look after them now. Therefore, in future, I will just have to 'torture' myself to indulge in a foot spa at least once a week. Oh such is life!

Knocking me down with a feather is not hard with a broken foot

2012-02-27T12:46:00.002+00:00

Seriously, I don't know why I bother? Getting myself stressed about last Monday's hospital appointment was a total waste of time,tears and energy. All my worry had been leading up to this one moment but the result could have knocked me down with a feather. (Let's face it, with my balance and the Foot of Doom, a feather could just about do the job)

After a secret, worried cry before we set off, I had then managed to perk myself up. Endlessly waiting in my second home, the fracture clinic, I sat with Nick keeping my mind occupied and even sat singing to myself. Yes, this made me look like I was in the wrong place and should have been going for my head checking out but I didn't really care.
After X-ray, I then had a visit to the doctor (yet another one as I have not seen the same one twice). The pot was going to come off and I would be able to get in the bath therefore nothing could stop me, or so I thought. On reviewing my notes the doctor replied with the unexpected;
"Right then, we need to book you in for your screws coming out."
WHAT??????????? These were the screws that were neatly embedded inside my foot. The same screws that I had my foot cut open to put in and was sure that the cuts had now healed. The same screws that the previous doctor had told me would stay in for life! Nick spoke for me and said that we were told that they would stay in but the doctors answer was still the same. Well, that was it! My bottom lip started quivering and I almost felt like my ears were bleeding. I may as well have gone home at that very moment as I could not longer see or hear anything as the shock had taken over my whole body. Filled with panic and the thought of another operation, I just could not take anything in. Nick had been tentatively listening and fed back to me later. Apparently, the screws hold the joints in the right place but if they are left in, the joints will not move so I would not be able to move part of my foot. I was to see a nurse to get booked in for the operation that would probably be in about a week. Right then, I thought, get a grip. My life is a disaster but I can just about cope with a weeks wait.

Parma Ham, anyone?

After that shock, I was in for another that I was slightly more prepared for. The Foot of Doom was going to be set free from the pot. When the pot was removed, I was quite disgusted with what I saw. In front of me was the hairiest leg I had ever seen, that obviously belonged to someone else. That someone else must have been a 90 year old granny as it was shrivelled, scaly and did not match my other leg. Or a very underfed bear. On asking Nick what my foot looked like underneath, he pulled a strange face and the nurse said, " Oh, it's ok. Just a bit of dry skin on it." Well, look at this picture. Is this just a bit of dry skin? No! It looked like someone had coated part of my foot in slices of Parma ham. It actually made me wretch.
Next, I was given a boot. It is one that I would eventually have to teach me to walk again but because of the screws, I am still not able to weight bear on it. If Dr Who ever crossed a Cybernan with a rabbit, this is what I look like. A hopping cyber man. Or half of Robocop.
Next came the final blow to my rubbish day. Booking my appointment for the operation that would be 'in about a week', just wasn't. The earliest date available for my foot being hacked to pieces was in 3 weeks time! Gutted doesn't even describe my feelings at that point. It's a good job that I wasn't holding something heavy because it would have hit the nearest person, who was the lady booking my appointment therefore would not have been a good move!

Cyberman/Robocop boot

Seriously, from the way that I was feeling, if someone would have knocked me with a feather I would have either fallen straight over or shattered into a million pieces and judging by the skankiness of my foot and leg, the latter option would not be pleasant for any of the surrounding public! Since then, I have been a right old misery and to top it all off, my left foot is now freezing!
Surely, it's got to be uphill from here!

Waiting for the day....

2012-02-17T17:48:00.001+00:00

After the grand total of 106 days in plaster, there is a bright light at the end of that very long tunnel. In 2 more days, all being well, my broken foot will be released from plaster. How am I feeling? Very, very worried......

Any normal person would probably be filled with excitement. Any normal person would be looking forward to this event after so long. At the moment I am filled more with fear than excitement. Then again, I never claim to be 'normal'. What on earth could I be afraid of? Well, here goes.
Claiming that I like my cast would be a total lie. I hate the damn thing and there have been many days when I have felt like hacking it off. However, I have got used to it. I know my limits and have worked out how to move around the house as I need to. Being uncoordinated and with the added hazard of crutches, I have managed to bash my foot on cupboards, doors, steps, tables and the dustbins and the nasty pot has really done it's job and protected my foot. Yes, it has also developed a mind of its own but has really stood up to a bit of a thrashing. When the Foot of Doom gets a new home, will it be protected enough from my clumsiness?
Assuming that I will get some sort of boot from the hospital,I am seriously worried about trying to walk with it. Having not put any weight on my foot for over 3 months, I am under no illusions of how difficult it will be. Yes, the foot might be repaired but it has not had my weight on it (and there is a fair bit of that) and has 4 screws inside so I know is going to hurt. People I know seem to be under the assumption that once my cast comes off, everything will all go back to normal. If you are on of those, get your backside round to mine and have a good old feel of my leg! It is like sticking your fingers in a bag of tripe! Much to my distress, I also discovered that the 'tripe' has developed up my leg to my bum as well. What was becoming a firm backside, from going up and down the steps on it, has now become a wibbly wobbly butt cheek similar to one belonging to a very large baby. The muscle waste is like nothing I have ever had before. (I will refrain from from telling you to feel my backside as well so have tried to describe it the best I can!)
Put these things together and all in all, I am getting quite anxious, to the extent it is keeping me awake at night, about how the recovery is going to go, when will I be back to normal and other people's unrealistic expectations.
Despite all this, I have got a few things to look forward. Bathing, peeling the build up of skin off my foot, being able to get to my toilet instead of a commode and walking out in the fresh air are the things that I long for ! Also, I am praying the hospital tell me that I don't have to give myself blood thinning injections any more. Looking at the clock, I dread when injection time arrives and after so long, my stomach (which has also turned to tripe) is so bruised that it now resembles the colour of a potato!
After all this, if you don't know me in person, I am sure that I have just painted a glorious picture of what I look like. Previously, I did used to have the body of a super model but this whole thing has really taken its toll on me (Did I mention that it has also turned me into a dreadful liar?)
Here's to Monday! Let the recovery commence.

We are sailing.......with a broken foot

2012-02-13T14:26:00.004+00:00

Ever wondered what it is like on a boat with a broken foot? No? Well, maybe you shouldn't bother even thinking about it. If you get a chance to wonder about anything else, grab that opportunity with both hands and run as far away as you can because, believe me, it's not the most enjoyable experience! What on earth was she doing on a boat, I hear you ask? Of course I wasn't on a boat but it damn well felt like it. Here is what happened....

Monday night was going to be exciting as we were going on a trip to Costco. Hardly being able to contain myself, (it is still just getting out of the house that thrills me!) I got myself ready in the car and then happily wheeled round Costco when it first happened. At first, I began to inspect my wheels as I was moving along. Something was wrong. Did the wheelchair have a puncture or had I ridden over something that had stuck to the wheel? Whatever it was, it was having a very undesired effect on my wheels and was making the whole chair wobble. Continuing on, the problem was still there as I wheeled out to the car. As I was sat in the car, the realisation struck me. I was no longer in the wobbly wheelchair but sat in the car and yet I was still wobbling. The problem wasn't the wheelchair.....it was actually my head. Arriving home, I began to feel more and more dizzy and had to lay down straight away, feeling the need to sleep it off. How wrong I was.
Slowly opening my eyes the next morning, I could see and feel the entire room moving. Attempting to sit up made the whole room spin and every time I moved my head I felt like I was on a boat going across the Atlantic during a gale. Well, if this wasn't bad enough, I found that trying to walk with my crutches was near impossible. If you have read any of my previous blogs you may have picked up that crutches are not the easiest thing to use especially when you have my lack of co-ordination. This was now a hundred times worse. How could I walk when every time I looked at the floor, the floor seemed to move from where I thought it was? Feeling constantly drunk without the happiness or the joy of the alcohol made me feel like I was a victim of some cruel magic trick.
Thoughts running through went head went something like this: Woe is me. My life is over. How am I going to get to the toilet? How will I get food. I am going to be well and truly bed bound. I have 2 weeks until my pot comes off, how will I begin the road to recovery if I can't get out of bed? Woe is me. My life is so tragic!
Anyway, I had to find out what was wrong with me so I phoned the doctor from my bed. No, I can't get to the surgery, I have a broken foot and can't get out of bed. Why? Because I feel dizzy. Can you not pop in, we have an spare appointment? No. I CAN'T GET OUT BED! After all that, I finally had a doctor phone me back to inform me that I had labyrinthitis which is an inflammation of the inner ear. My prescription was to basically sit it out (unless it got any worse) and avoid making any sudden movements. Sudden movements? Well that must mean that my planned street dancing session was scuppered! Ha.
Afternoon came and I can safely say, I have never been so bored in my entire life. Moving my head in any direction was not an option so I just propped myself up in bed staring at the T.V. (which was also moving across the room). Could my life get any worse? After Nick brought me a cup of tea, I began to feel a bit strange and attempting to sit up did not help. If I hadn't have felt so rubbish, I may have been tempted to break into song with a rendition of 'We Are Sailing' as my boat was well and truly bobbing up and down, in fact it was properly rocking. This feeling was swiftly followed by a lovely dose of 'sea sickness'! Holding my hair back from the splashing vomit, I continued to throw up in the bucket as the smell of my own sick made me spew even more. An all time low.
Thankfully, that was the end of the vom but the dizziness continued. Spending 5 days with a very dizzy head was not really what I had planned for the week. 7 days later, I still feel slightly dizzy but can manage to hop about a bit more so hopefully will be fully recovered by the time the cast comes off next week.
I have always believed that everything happens for a reason but this has really put my beliefs to the test and am struggling to find that reason. The only thing I can think of is don't go on a boat with a broken foot.

Snow and a broken foot

2012-02-05T14:30:00.000+00:00

It snowed here yesterday and ,as per usual, the British media lapped it up and began warning us with tales of doom of how you must only make essential journeys e.t.c. What about me and my broken foot? Did the snow have any effect? Slightly, but not in ways the ways that you think.
Loving the snow as I do, the first thing I wanted to do was wrap up warm and go for a walk and feel the lovely warm glow of walking back into the toasty house. Well, not this year. Foolishly, I suggested that Nick could buy a sledge and pull me up to the shops to get me out of the house. Unfortunately, he wasn't having any of it. After that, I did actually think that even if he did, first how could I get into a sledge and second, how on earth would I get out of it? Imagine the sight, me laying on my back like an upturned turtle, trying to get up. I think I would end up making some very magnificent snow angels! Maybe not so much of a good idea. At first I thought that snow would make me even more of a prisoner in my home, however it hasn't. Remaining glued to the sofa, with the occasional change of scenery to sit on the commode, is where I will stay, snow or not!
However, the snow brought me out in hot sweats. Having a multi-fuel burning stove in the living room makes the room really cosy and I look forward to winter for that reason but last night, it felt very different. As I have mentioned before, my plaster round my foot can get quite warm. Yesterday, my foot seemed to be acting as a thermal insulator and taking all the heat from the fire and putting it into my foot. Feeling like it was going to explode, the Foot of Doom managed to conduct the heat around my entire body. This resorted in me having to roll my trousers up to let air get to my legs whilst I sat there sweating like I had run a marathon.

Tiny bit of snow

Yesterday, the snow stopped me from getting something I wanted. Nick likes his gadgets especially T.V.s and being the person I am, I do everything to discourage him to buy anything electrical. However, he has now decided that he wants a new T.V and as I now spend approximately 85% of my time staring at it, I too thought it would be a good idea. Sadly, with icy roads and the snow coming down, Nick decided that it was not really a priority to go out and buy one yesterday. Damn it. Strangely, I am now finding myself nagging him about buying a new T.V. The Foot of Doom seems to be making my life take very strange turns.
Today, the snow made me feel guilty. Looking out of the window, I noticed Ray across the road (my lovely neighbour who rescued me when I fell over) clearing his drive. He looked like he was really struggling with his back and I wanted to grab my snow shovel and help him. Obviously, this is impossible even from the start as the snow shovel is in the cellar and I can not get down there.
Finally, the snow made my living room curtain fall down. Why? Being an invalid who is seriously lacking in vitamin D from the sun, as well as being nosey, I constantly find myself pulling the curtain back to look outside. Well, maybe I've been hanging onto the curtain to make sure I don't fall over because today, as I was having a gawp out of the window, it fell down narrowly missing my head.

Note to self: If you are going to be nosey, do it carefully. Just like fire and water, concussion and a broken foot do not not mix!

Broken Foot and patience being a virtue (or something like that)

2012-01-29T16:40:00.001+00:00

According to proverbs, 'patience is a virtue.' After sat here thinking about how patient I am being, I started wondering what the phrase actually means and have decided that I must be full of virtue! Apparently a virtue is 'behaviour showing high moral standards'. If that is the case, send some wings and a halo for me and my high moral standards!

Patience, patience, patience. People keep on saying be patient, it will be over soon. Be patient, you will be walking before you know it. Working with children all day has led me to be patient in some areas of life but 'The 'Foot of Doom' has really put me to the test. For the past 87 days I have been very patient. If you look up 'patience' in the next dictionary that you buy, you may find a picture of me right next to the word. I am the epitome of patience. You know what? I am sick of being patient!

3 hours of work. Was it worth it?

I feel that the more that this goes on, I seem to spend all my time being patient waiting for something. During the day, I sit waiting for the post-man, the phone to ring, facebook to update, Nick to come home or something decent to come on T.V. On a day where I know that I am due a visitor, it is like waiting for Christmas day to come! Yesterday, I spent 3 hours sewing to produce a tiny little tapestry thing. Patience? Ha, I seem to have tons of it.
However, my patience finally wore thin with the state of the house. Nick really does his best but it feels like he goes to work and then comes home to me who requests (or demands) things for him to do to clean up the house. Caving in the other week, I phoned a cleaner. Now, I even sit waiting for Wednesdays to come round for my house to be cleaned and the company of having someone else in the house during the day.
Counting down the days to when my pot may finally be removed is making me quite impatient now. I can't wait to feel water on my scabby, dry foot, shave the forest of hair off my leg and even manage to walk upstairs to the toilet instead of peeing in the commode downstairs.
To all my friends and family: Please allow me to be impatient, moody and more annoying than normal for the next 21 days because I need to save my patience up for when the pot comes off and I have to learn to walk. Calling any saints to kindly donate any patience for me when this happens and anyone else that I may come in contact with!
By the way, I've had a few comments about my use of the word 'pot'. Being from the North of England, we seem to have our own language up here. For me, 'pot' is that hideous plaster thing round my leg stopping my foot from moving. However, the national or international meanings create a really pretty picture. Either my leg is stuck in container for cooking in or putting plants in and on the other hand it could be wrapped up in marijuana. Maybe the latter would restore my patience for a little while longer!

Don't wish for excitement with a broken foot.

2012-01-23T12:51:00.000+00:00

Last week, I worried. Not for my health or anything like that. No. I was worried that I would not have anything to blog about. Then, it happened.

I have to say that this situation is driving me crazy. Last night, in my wisdom, I decided that maybe bad broken bone recovery is said to take 3 months because any longer would force you to take matters into your own hands. Seriously, it's been 81 days since I broken my foot and is exactly 4 weeks until my prospective 'pot off' date. Frothing at the mouth will be next if it doesn't come off then or I may be forced to re-enact a scene from 'Saw'. Desperately, I have been wanting something to happen just so I could blog to keep me occupied. No, I'm not asking for a celebrity visit or the miracle of becoming an athlete over night. Just a little something to spice up my day. Well, on Thursday, my wish came true.
Deciding once again to try and be a little self sufficient, I hopped in the kitchen to try to do some prep for tea so that Nick did not have to do everything. As I got into the middle of the kitchen, my right crutched developed a mind of it's own. It went sliding to the right making me seriously lose my balance. Reflex reaction made me put my left potted foot straight down to stop me over-balancing. Did it hurt? No, I did not feel a thing because what I have found, with a non-weight-bearing pot, is that it has been put round my foot in such a way that makes it impossible to put any weight on it at all (hence the name, durrr!). Therefore, the Foot of Doom was not happy with this and went sliding off to the left allowing my left crutch to disappear from my sight. I have never been a gymnast but the way I did the splits could have seriously won me a medal.
Amazingly, I did not break anything. However, my finishing position put me in a bit of a fix. My crutches were half way across the kitchen, my good foot was trapped under my leg and my bad foot was sticking out at very strange angle. Feeling like I was hanging off the Empire State Building, I was clinging for dear life to the kitchen counter and could not work out how I was going to move. Sobbing hysterically, I reached in my pocket for my mobile to call my neighbour. My 84 year old neighbour! He was the only one I could think of. Luckily, he is very agile and came running over to my rescue. Managing to move my wheelchair, he help me get into it as well as putting up with my distraught crying. Ray is my hero and deserves putting on the New Years honours list for his efforts.When Nick walked in from work, I was a right old mess and sat crying for a very long time. Exhausted, I hopped to the sofa and nursed my grazed arms and broken toe nail.
In future, I can't promise that I won' t wish for something interesting to happen but maybe not wish so hard. Also, I'd better make sure that I glue myself to the sofa for my own safety as well as for Super Ray's!

Broken foot, boredom, toilet seats and the Women's Institute

2012-01-18T17:00:00.003+00:00

Well, since the perishing pins of pain came out, I would love to say it's made a huge difference. Aside from the twinging pain, nothing else has changed. I still have a non weight-bearing stupid pot on a stupid foot therefore I still can not walk. To top it all off, I am really getting bored. My recent activities would probably make me an ideal member for the Women's Institute.

That night, I spoke to a friend who is having a bit of a hard time and then followed that with getting Nick to help me have a shower. The combination of the 2, as well as remembering the state of my disgusting foot underneath the pot, managed to reduce me to tears. Laying on the bed, I just sobbed and sobbed, wondering when this is is going to end. In my whole life, I had never felt so hopeless.

Even with things to do that I can manage to complete whilst sat on my ever increasing backside, I am still getting fed up and bored. Growing lists of things to do on my laptop are appearing on my 'poorly table' but it is giving me a feeling of forced labour! I just don't want to do them because I want to do something interesting and not something that I have to do! Is this what community service feels like? (only without the community bit!)
One thing that is managing to curb some of the boredom is making things. Crafting, or 'being crafty' as some of my friends put it, has always been a bit of a thing of mine. However, the 'Foot of Doom' seems to be really pushing me towards baking (which I can do whilst in the wheelchair even though I make a mess), sewing and anything else that I can do for the sitting position. Biscuits, pecan pie, Mississippi mud pie, mega fruity cake, mince pies, decorations for dining chairs, and needle-holder are all part of my 'portfolio'. The other week, I even made my Christmas cards for next year! How ridiculous is that? Yes, I am still having the usual accidents, especially when baking but with my amount of cake making, I am starting to wonder if I should join the Women's Institute, providing they would do home visits. The only thing is, there would be not naked calendar shots for me. The main reason being that the pot would strictly not make me naked! (No other reason of course!)
My most recent accident was nothing to do with baking but my other favourite past time-going to the toilet! As I find it difficult getting on and off the toilet, I sort of slide onto it which has resulted in the toilet seat moving over to one side. The other day, I tried to move the seat back to it's proper position. However, I obviously had not thought this through properly and ended up catching my finger underneath the seat.This would not have been too much of a problem had I not been sat on the seat at the time. My full body weight, and the seat rested on my fourth finger. Crying in pain, I seriously thought I had broken it! It throbbed for about 3 days. Who would have thought that having a broken foot could cause such an injury?
Maybe my cabin fever is getting to me as I have developed a bit of a fondness for the Alan Titchmarsh. I was so excited when his show came back on Monday after a short break. No, the fondness is not in a sexual way. It is a sort of comfort feeling. Maybe when the new sofa arrives, I won't need that comfort feeling any more.....

Perishing pins of pain banished from the Foot of Doom

2012-01-09T15:35:00.001+00:00

Ever had a couple of piranha fish nip at your feet? My foot has felt like it has been nibbled for the past 7 weeks with the damn pins stuck in the side of it. Today has been the day that I have been strangely looking forward to. The day that the perishing pins of pain come out.

3 hours of going to different places; plaster room, x-ray, fracture clinic, treatment room, plaster room again and finally pharmacy. It's no wonder I am tired!
First my pot was removed using a small electric rotary saw which filled me with terror. I was convinced it was going to go through onto my leg. Then the true horror was unleashed. The disgusting, scabby, shrivelled, hairy leg was out for all to see!
This picture shows my x-ray this morning. Nick had been telling me how, when he had pins in his fingers, they were small and were just pulled out with a pair of pliers. This made me feel quite confident but when Nick saw the x-ray, he was strangely quiet. The four screws stay in there for life but the pins were on their way out.
Going to the treatment room was quite a strange feeling because it felt like I knew that I was being released from prison but knowing full well that I would be locked up again. The pot was off, pins coming out but I was going to be potted up again. Anyway, it smarted quite a bit but was over very quickly although I felt that I could have done with something to bite on! No anaesthetic, just a few deep breaths and a pair of pliers. For your enjoyment or interest, I managed to film the event (without looking!) and put it at the bottom of the page. Try not to cringe too much!
I now have a new, very tight, purple non weight-bearing pot and another 40 blood thinning injections. Oh joy!

On the bright side, I had slight release from the pot, got a morning out of the house and am rid of the perishing pins of pain

Has my broken foot led me to an alien abduction?

2012-01-08T21:16:00.000+00:00

Maybe I watched too many science fiction films as a child? Perhaps my daily injections and doses of hideous daytime T.V are sending me mad? Whatever it is, I have convinced myself that I have been abducted by aliens or been the victim of a cruel scientific experiment.
Telling myself this, might be making me feel better about the hideous thing I have to look at everyday, and for once I am not talking about the mirror! I am almost sure that in the middle of the night I was abducted by aliens, returned to my bed but the teleporting did some odious things to my left leg.
After taking a photo of my foot and being quite disturbed by what I saw, I have taken to examining my foot in a mirror. It is one of the most disgusting things I have seen and makes me wretch almost as much as the day that one of the kids at school trampled a very large dog poo all around my classroom. Looking at my foot has put me off eating things made of flaky pastry. There is dead skin in between my toes and under my feet and it has developed in swirling patterns that look like I have been sat in the bath too long. To make matters worse, as I only discovered the grimness of my foot the other day, I realised that every time I have been sat in my wheelchair with no sock on, the poor person who am facing has been faced with the monstrosity!
Also, as I was preparing my pork chop for tea tonight, it made me think of my leg. The weirdest thing has happened to the top of it. I always thought that the top of legs were just made up of fat. I have since found out that there was once muscle under there. Due to lack of use, the muscle now seems to have wasted away so my leg is turning into a strange shape. It looks like someone had taken the fatty shrivelled sides of my pork chop and stuck them on either side of leg. It just looks wrong.
Finally, it is now 67 days since I had my first pot put on. The hair on my legs that is sticking out at the top of my pot would make me the ideal candidate to audition for a role in 'Star Wars' as a Wookie or an overgrown Ewok.
Maybe I have been the subject of a scientific experiment like on 'The Fly' but instead of my head becoming a fly's, my leg has become that of a jelly-like bear with psoriasis.
Which ever one of these it is, I would like my other leg back please. If I don't get it back then my career as a super model or athlete is well and truly over!

Activity + Broken foot = Couch Potato

2012-01-04T22:00:00.002+00:00

I've tried .....and failed! Early on in my ordeal with the Foot of Doom, I promised myself that I would not become a couch potato. Today, I have failed miserably. Why, I hear you ask? Well, because yesterday I tried not to be a couch potato!

Yesterday, Nick was back at work and all my friends were too so I decided that I could at least make some sort of effort to do something. Nigella would be proud of me as I made a parsnip and ginger soup as well as managed to make some bread. Yes, it took me 25 minutes to chop the vegetables as I was sat in the wheel chair and kept dropping everything, but I damn well did it. I managed to put some washing in as well as take some Christmas decorations down. The decorations took a long time as I had to push the boxes along with my crutches and throw everything in then hang of the edge of the sofa to try to get everything in tidily. Nick came home and I was really proud of my achievements and that I had been able to make tea. (He still had to tidy up as the kitchen looked like Gordon Ramsey had had a food fight with Jamie Oliver). It was as I was dishing the soup out that I felt my leg was really hurting.
As I reached the sofa, I realised that it wasn't 'Stupid Foot' but it was my good leg that really hurt. In fact, a dead and drooping daffodil in summer time was just what my leg felt like. It felt like it was hanging on for dear life and at any minute would drop off and I would have to get a wooden leg instead. Nick burns any wood on our fire so we would have nothing to make me a wooden leg out of so really needed to rest instead. After talking to Nick, we realised that once again I had over done it and put too much pressure on my right leg.Therefore, today, I had strict instructions to rest properly. Honestly, it feels like that is all I am doing!
Anyway, after nodding off for a while, I woke up to the joys of 'This Morning'. If I didn't know there was a commode nearby, I could have peed my pants laughing at what I saw. Philip and Holly trying to be incredibly serious as they gave a make-over to a girl whose terrible plight in life was that people thought she looked like Sonia from Eastenders! But then, the funniest part was that she looked almost the same afterwards. I thought it was just me that found it hilarious but Twitter told me otherwise-I was not alone. There are plenty of other lunatics sat at home, watching daytime T.V, checking on Twitter and wondering where it all went wrong!
I then managed about 10 minutes of listening to cantankerous battle-axes talking about stuff that they knew nothing about but had a ridiculous opinion on; the wonders that is 'Loose Women'. Thinking that this was enough to make me want to put my head in the oven, I crutched my way over to put a DVD on. This lasted about 2 hours until I had to give myself the daily injection of blood thinners. It was then that I saw the size of my stomach after a few too many mince pies. That was it-the turning point. Out came the armchair workout DVD again. Giving it a good go made me feel the need for another long rest afterwards so had to have another couple of hours of watching more DVD's.
Don't think it did too much for the mince pie stomach but nevermind, at least I don't look like Sonia from Eastenders!

2012; The Year of the Foot

2012-01-01T20:23:00.000+00:00

After over a week of not writing my blog, I decided that I need to start up again. Sitting here, wedged into my usual spot on the sofa, I am actually wondering why I have not written it. It's not like I've been up to much. For some reason people have been asking me what I have been up to. Whilst I know that they are just making conversation, what do they expect me to say? I've been winter hiking up Ingleborough and also been taking lessons on how to street dance? Ha, if only!

On Christmas Day, we went to my parents for dinner. Much to my dismay, due to my predicament, I was allowed to sit in 'the chair'. Growing up, my dad always had his special chair that was his and his alone. Whether over the years of sitting in 'the chair' that it had specially shaped to his backside or maybe it was just the one that had the best viewing spot for the T.V, which ever it was, no one else sat in it! It was just known as Dad's chair, but today was different. Feeling like a member of the Royal family, I was ushered to 'the chair' with the special foot stool whilst my dad acted servant for the day. I had a really nice day apart from what seems to have caused me more problems than anything. Yes, you've guessed it...going to the toilet.
Over the past 2 months, I have slowly got used to moving around the obstacles in my own house. However, going to someone else's house is a different kettle of fish.Everything seems to be difficult. Crawling up the steps was ok but the landing in middle threw me somewhat and I almost had to shuffle on my knees to the next step. Managing to hoist myself up using the banister worked but Nick had to follow on carrying my crutches up. I did what I needed to do but that was when Nick had to come to my rescue again. One of the worst things had happened; I appeared to be stuck on the toilet. Without ledges around for me to lean on like at my house, I seemed to be super-glued to the toilet seat. No matter how much I tried to lift myself up, it wasn't happening. Worrying that I could be stuck there forever or have to call an ambulance to have my backside surgically removed from the seat, my pride slipped again and I had to shout Nick to help to pull me off the toilet. My life just seems to get more humiliating!Anyway, apart from venturing to the toilet, I had done nothing else but still arrived home exhausted with hardly any energy to even take my solitary boot off.
After that, aside from a trip in the wheelchair to look for a sofa (these past 2 months have punished our old sofa) and my friend taking me for a pub lunch, Christmas has been pretty uneventful. Me and Nick sat in and watched T.V. and gorged on very bad food on New Year's Eve so that was quiet. In fact, I think the highlight of the week was when I finally managed to stretch my arm holding my phone to take a photo of something that I have not seen for 8 weeks; the underneath of my toes on my bad foot. (It's grim, peeling and full of dead skin, I wonder if this is what leprosy is like?)

Me and my wheels

So back to why I have not written my blog. I have no idea! But I am coming back with a bang. I will be writing to keep myself cheered up and speed up my recovery. Never mind Britain hosting the Olympics; who cares? 2012 is going to be the Year of the Foot and nothing is going to stop it. (Unless we end up moving into house with a stand alone toilet!)
Happy New Year everyone. x

A Very Broken Footed Christmas to come

2011-12-24T19:11:00.000+00:00

Well, the past few days have been a mixture of eventful and totally eventless. Isn't that what Christmas is all about? And we've not even had Christmas Day yet! Christmas with a broken foot is going to be as exciting as watching paint dry.

Thankfully, disinfecting the house seemed to work. Thankfully, I did catch the sickness bug off Nick but had a very quiet few days because he was tired. My birthday was probably the biggest non-event of the year. We only left the house in the evening to go on a mega Asda shopping trip. I do have to say that going round Asda at 10 at night for Christmas shopping was really nice. It was quiet but the few people that were there seemed quite cheery. As I went round in my wheelchair, losing Nick somewhere in the wine section, people were really helpful. I don't normal have a problem with holding things but for some reason I appeared to keep dropping food in the aisles which left people to come to my rescue. Four different people came to help me and managed to refrain from talking on a clear, slow, loud voice. It felt really good and full of the Christmas spirit (as was our trolley).
We had my family round the other night for the postponed birthday meal, and friends round last night which made me feel really Christmassy. Lots of food and drink which was really lovely and great company that, for a short while, made me forget about about the Foot of Doom. However, once again, too much enjoyment does not please the Foot of Doom and it tries to find an evil way of getting back at me. This morning I woke up absolutely exhausted and good foot found it difficult to move yesterday. That just led to me getting fed up to the back teeth. To be honest I find Christmas itself quite depressing and this year it feel worse. Sitting watching more T.V. today had me in tears. I've read the book and seen the film so I know what happens but watching Charlotte's Web made me cry like a baby when the spider died. I don't even like bleeding spiders. We then watched Nativity which is a comedy about a school nativity play. This obviously hit a nerve and had me sobbing into a tissue again!. I reckon I might need a good old dose of Eastenders to sort me out as it's so depressing it might make my life seem quite cheery!
Maybe laying on the sofa and drinking myself into oblivion whilst watching Eastenders is the answer! Mind you, isn't that what Christmas is all about?
I would like to wish a very cheery Christmas to all the peopl who have been good enough to take the time to read the rants of a mad woman. God Bless us everyone! That's what Tiny Tim said and although I'm not tiny or called Tim, I feel that under the present circumstances I think I can get away with it! Merry Christmas x

A broken foot and sickness bug. Just what the doctor ordered!

2011-12-20T18:17:00.000+00:00

Well, that's it. I now know that if the big guy upstairs is looking over me, he is trying to test my strength, will power and endurance. Why? Nick has got the winter sickness bug.
Last night Nick came home freezing cold and went to bed early. In our house that is unheard of. We have only had the fire going once this year because ever since I broke my foot, my pot seems to heat up my whole body, sometimes probably the whole house. I reckon that if I stuck my foot in the Christmas tree, the heat would probably manage to power the tree lights as well.
Anyway, all this is most unheard so I knew that something was wrong. At 4.30am poor Nick was spewing his guts up in the toilet and there was nothing I could really do. Morning came and Nick stayed in bed. He felt so weak and ill that he could not manage to do anything. Oh dear, I suddenly realised that this seemed like a cruel joke. Throughout all of my escapades with the Foot of Doom, Nick has been my rock. He has done his best to keep me positive and done anything I have asked him to. He has been my nurse, home help, cook, cleaner ......practically everything. What on earth was I going to do now? A broken foot and sickness bug...just what the doctor ordered (if that doctor was Doctor Evil)

The resemblance is uncanny!

Yes, I was being tested to the limit and no, I would not fail. Not this time. The Foot of Doom would not win. Sliding down the stairs on my bum, I then went back up to save poor Nick by doing the best impression of a St. Bernard dog that anyone could do. I began crawling up the steps that seemed very much like the Swiss Alps.(cold and never ending) Hanging round my neck was not a keg of brandy but a brown bag with a bottle and a carton of juice and some paracetamols. The St. Bernard was coming to the rescue. (On that note, on peeking at my leg underneath the pot, I realise that there is 7 weeks of hair growth under there. Maybe the comparison to a St. Bernard is not that far off!) I delivered the goods and the rescue mission was complete, there was nothing else I could do for him. However my mission had not finished.......
As I sat at the bottom of the stairs trying to get the energy to pick up my crutches and move, I began to think. It's my birthday tomorrow, and very near Christmas. I can NOT and will NOT get this bug if I can help it. Reading up on the bug, I found that it is spread by poor hand hygiene and can rest on contaminated surfaces for up to 12 hours. Well, not on my watch!
The computer, the door handles, phones and remote controls all got a lethal dose of antibacterial spray. (I hope they all still work!) Setting about the kitchen, I managed to find some ingenious ways of trying to clean all the surfaces with Dettol. However, doing the washing up was my finest hour yet. After standing on one leg and resting a knee on a chair, I washed and dried the pots and rested them on the seat of my wheel chair. I then pushed the wheel chair across the kitchen whilst dragging my leg along on the chair to get to the cupboards. I amazed myself at how I managed to do things simply because I had no choice. Although yet again, I had another little accident. On the way back to the sink, whilst resting my bad leg on a chair and pulling it along, the chair seemed to hit a slippy patch. The chair went sliding from underneath me and I some how ended up straddling the toppled over chair whilst still trying to keep my bad foot up in the air. After this, I am thinking of entering Strictly Come Dancing on Ice as the graceful movement and finishing pose that I had just completed would have definitely scored at least a 7.
My house now smells like a hospital but I don't care as I will do anything not to get that bug. However, I will definitely keep you posted because, believe me, if I get it, it's gonna be messy and I will not be happy!

It began to look a lot like Christmas.

2011-12-19T16:15:00.002+00:00

My house really takes a hammering at Christmas. I just can't help it. There is nothing I love more than decorating the house up for Christmas. I try to be tasteful, I don't do tinsel but every year I seem to accumulate more and more decorations and insist that they all go up. Having a broken foot, this year, was not going to change any of that.....

You can't get more Christmassy than this!

Without fail, every year, Nick tries to put me off putting up decorations and this year was no different. He actually does it to wind me up because he knows how I feel about Christmas. My birthday is just before Christmas so, ever since being little, selfishly I always feel that all the decorations and parties are just for me! Our house law (whoops, sorry MY house law) is that the tree must at least be in the house by the 1st of December and we must abide by this law whatever otherwise someone will suffer! On the evening of the 1st we set off in the car, wheelchair in tow, to the garden centre. It was freezing and despite having a sock on my foot that only a yeti would find comfortable, my toes were going numb.

After making my way across the car park in the wheelchair, I found that Nick had to push me because my huge furry jacket was making it difficult for me to move and was making my upper body break out in a sweat. (However, foot of doom was still frozen)

Choosing a tree this year was slightly different. Last year, I was so disappointed with the shape of the trees that I left the garden centre in a huff and went somewhere else. This year, we looked at 2 trees and, much to Nick's relief chose very quickly. Freezing butt cheeks and nearly blue toes seemed to really help the decision process!

Now came the problem. It was a 5-6 foot tree that would fit in the car with the seat down. However, it would not fit in the car with me and a wheelchair. This resulted in Nick having to leave me at the garden centre to take the tree home then come back for me!

Feeling a little bit vulnerable, I wheeled round to the pet area to occupy my time. I was by myself but hell, I would not have anything stop me. I was not totally incapable of everything so I was going to look like I was in control. Unsurprisingly, I did get a few raised eyebrows from people. God knows what they were thinking, especially when I was attempting to do a 3 point turn in the posh candle area. Looking at the rabbits and guinea pigs seemed to make me feel a bit better; however I then moved on to look at some baby gerbils. My lovely gerbil died 5 days after I broke my foot and seeing these gerbils brought a tear to my eye. Slowly, I stroked the glass of the tank and wondered if they knew how looked after a little gerbil just like them.

All of a sudden, something came over me. It was like I could see myself from the heavens. This is what I saw. A lady in a wheelchair, all wrapped up in a big furry coat complete with woolly hat, all on her own, looking at the animals, stroking a tank and crying. Oh dear....... Unfortunately, I really looked like I was on day release and had got separated from the group. I began to think that at some point I would hear my name over the speaker because my carer was looking for me.

As quick as my wheels could go, I wheeled to the entrance to wait for Nick. I did not care how long I would be sat there but I would not have anyone thinking that I needed any sort of help.

On arriving home, we put the tree in the base and decorated it the next night. Yes, it was far bigger than we thought and it is now a little bit more difficult getting in and out of our house than usual because there seems to be a massive tree in the way. But who cares? It looks good. The decorations took very little time as I sat on a chair putting some on whilst Nick did the others. The time factor was helped by the fact that I could not follow Nick around the tree moving every decoration that he put up because it seemed to be in the wrong place, like I usually do.

This time, I have managed to overcome the Foot of Doom! My house is decorated and looks all Christmassy although I resisted temptation to put decorations on the commode. Some things are just not meant to be.

Let's hope that Santa doesn't break his foot because if he does, you can kiss goodbye to any presents. I can't imagine trying to get down a chimney with a foot like mine!

Let's get physical.

2011-12-16T10:35:00.003+00:00

Whilst I can still do bits of cooking, unless I have some help, my cooking and the state of the kitchen would be enough to render Gordon Ramsey speechless. Every time I even attempt to get into the fridge, I am dicing with death. Precariously, the fridge perches on a ledge which, if my wheelchair gets next to it, there is about 3mm of space at the side before my wheelchair will fall. Therefore, I have to resort to standing on my good foot and hang over the fridge door to stop myself falling over. Dangerous and definitely not attractive.

Anyway, all this has resulted in our meals being quick ones, and definitely not calorie counted. Also, due to the fact that I am glued to the sofa or a chair, I am doing less exercise than ever and believe me, I did not think that this was possible! I needed a plan otherwise in 3 months time I would need my roof bulldozing in for the forklift truck to hoist me off the sofa. I mean, the sofa cushion is even beginning to look like me!(The bottom half) I reckon that if I die, scientists would be able to take the throw off the sofa and examine it for carbon dating and find a perfect imprint of my cheeks in it just like Turin's shroud.
The plan was to try to do some exercise. It sounds easy but firstly, I can not walk without both hands on crutches so that meant Zumba was not an option.(Imagine the tales if I did that). Secondly, I'm hardly a fitness freak. Exercise is a little bit alien.
Nick sorted me out with some weights to help my arms as most of the exercise I now do uses my very weak arms. He gave me the smallest weights and showed me what to do which resulted in me sitting, watching X-factor, huffing and puffing as I feebly attempted to raise the weights above my head and complaining that they hurt my arms.(You may have gathered by now that from living with me, Nick has developed the very useful tool of selective hearing. At this point, it was switched on!) Keeping on doing this actually must have helped because I progressed with further weights so much so that when my friend Michelle can round, she could hardly lift them off the floor.
All of this did not feel like enough. I needed more so research led me to discover an 'armchair fitness' dvd. Everyone I have said this to has cracked up laughing. Yes, I too had visions of a 90 year old sat in a Shackletons high seat attempting to move their arms above waist height with difficulty. However,this was not the case. It has been made my a very inspiring lady, younger than me, who lost one of her legs so this would be perfect. Sitting up ready to exercise, I have to admit that I felt like a total idiot doing this in my living room. Enthusiastically, I began and the warm up nearly killed me off. After nearly falling off the seat I was sitting on, my toes on my bad foot had swelled up so much after not being elevated that it felt that my foot was going to explode. The foot also seemed to be heating my entire body up so what with that and the warm-up, I felt like I was having some sort of heart attack. I had to go back to lay down. Not good. After about 10 minutes, I started again only to find that I needed massage balls (oh yes, they are funny!) and big piece of elastic. Damn it, I had to stop again because I did not have the goods! 2 days later, when my equipment arrived, I tried again and really enjoyed it. However, during the part that stretches your back, you need to lay on the floor. This was all well and good, but getting off the floor is another story. I had crawl across the floor to the sofa, throw my torso on to it and try to swing both legs onto it, all whilst trying not to fall off. That part is going to take some practice.
As it happens, I have only done this DVD a couple of times. Staring at it, from across the room, I just keep thinking about how difficult it is just get the DVD in the player.That is a whole exercise in itself for which exhausts me just thinking about it. I do worry that if I don't fall and smash my head on the T.V., I will end up having a very personal relationship with our massive Christmas tree that is right next to the T.V. Falling into that will not be a pretty sight.

Stay in doors. It is safer!

2011-12-08T12:09:00.002+00:00

If I were you, if you hear of me leaving the house, you are best to stay in doors. The streets are not safe with me and my killer crutches about! Yesterday, I left the house again. but this time I was on my own!

Venturing out of the house without a chaperone was a scary event. I was faking at confidence when my mum and Nick were worrying about me. One of my oldest friends, Judy, runs her own hair salon therefore, I booked a hair appointment to perk myself up, thinking that I could manage on my own. My hair was beginning to look like a Vileda Supermop that had just wiped up spaghetti bolognese off the floor. It had not being dyed for so long that it was mixture of red, brown, grey and white. I know that hair appointments do not seem too important in the grand scheme of things but when my face is often the only one that I see during the day, the hair needs to look good otherwise I may just smash every mirror in the house. That would only result in the me answering the door with toothpaste smeared across my face and generally looking like something from Dawn of the Dead.'
Anyway, looking like a child who was going on holiday, I sat with my coat on ready for about 15 minutes before the taxi arrived. It was then that I encountered the first problem. Managing to crutch my way outside, I then had to try to lock the house without dropping my crutches, falling over or get blown over by what felt like force 10 gales outside my door. At one point, I looked like a golden retriever with my house keys dangling out of my mouth because I needed my hands for the crutches and the door. I reached the taxi, Mr Taxi Driver appeared to be glued to the seat and a mute. I think if he did not talk to me then that was his excuse for not getting out and opening the door.
On arriving at the hairdressers, I was greeted like a queen. Judy came out to help me up the 2 steps whilst one of the girls opened the door for me. This was great and was so easy. Well, until I took the first step in the salon. The rain had made my crutches wet so as soon as I put them down they went sliding in front of me. Looking like a disheveled Bambi on ice, I seemed to lose any co-ordination that I had. The only thing that stopped me flying face first was Judy who had grabbed my coat from behind and was managing to hold me up by it!
Having my hair done felt like the most exciting thing that I had ever done. It was great to be out of the house without a chaperone and I really felt like I was being pampered. A few hours later, hair was done and the same taxi arrived to take me home. Once again, Judy's quick thinking saved me as I went over on my good ankle getting in the car. Mr Taxi Driver still seemed to have lost the ability to talk but I was so happy that I just began to talk incessantly at him, hoping for a response. It was still blowing a gale outside and the rain was pouring. We arrived near my house and the street was full of parked cars leaving nowhere near for the taxi to park. My front door goes straight out onto the pavement so I told him to park at the end and I would be able to crutch my way down. Then the strangest thing happened. Instead of parking, he reversed up the street behind the row of parked cars. Then he mounted the curb and drove the taxi straight down the pavement in between the houses and the parked cars! He stopped right outside my door, no exaggeration. I put one foot down then I was in my house. He then had to reverse back up because the lamp post was stopping him from driving any further down the pavement. All this, without saying a word to me!
Hopping into the house, I realised a few things. First, I really do need a chaperone when I go out. It is not safe for me or other people. It was a mistake to think that I could go out on my own. Second, this had absolutely exhausted me. Anytime out of the house makes me feel like I have run a marathon. I needed a rest. Finally, I had put my life in the hands of a mute maniac. The pavements were no longer safe for anyone.
But hey-ho, at least I had good hair!