Over the last week, I’ve had plenty of time to ponder the pros and cons of my situation. Spoiler alert: it’s not all Netflix and pills!
- Spending time with the family. Considering I’ve taken over the ground floor and am as needy as a newborn, they’ve made me feel very welcome. Highlights include David accidentally enjoying a slice of decorated cake that Mils had baked for her friend, Mum tripping and throwing dinner over me, and Syd’s general antics of depositing the TV remotes – or worse, my crutches – out of reach.
- Keeping a sense of humour. I’m starting to get cabin fever, and when discussing how I might get out and about, Tom suggested a long frame. When I asked what he meant, he said similar to how Hannibal Lecter was wheeled around.
- Feeling loved – a friend of mine offered to push me down the promenade like a centurion which I will definitely take her up on. I have four big bouquets of flowers brightening my bedside (which our bearded dragon Steve is also enjoying), along with vines of grapes that I am scoffing like Cleopatra. I think asking Mum to fan me with fronds might be a step too far though.
- Small victories – being able to dress myself was a momentous occasion. I’m keeping it real, but who knows? Tomorrow I might even be able to stand on one leg for long enough to make my own breakfast, flamingo style.
- I have cards from special people with strict instructions to take it easy or wishing me a speedy recovery, and my personal favourite: show that leg who’s boss!
- Not being able to shower does have some advantages since I don’t have to worry about plucking/shaving/waxing etc., and washing my hair is a luxury I’d taken for granted. My flannel washes in the sink are also an incredible glute workout on my right side, so at least it’s not just going to be my legs that are lopsided. Not wearing a bra or makeup is a bonus. Don’t worry prospective visitors: I will wash and make myself presentable before you come over!
- Daytime snoozing is guilt free as the cocktail of drugs keeps knocking me out. I watched the London marathon without any pangs of regret or envy this year.
- With my co-conspirator Syd, I was allowed a quick cuddle with our dog Fred whilst Mum was out of the room. This was a mistake though, as now I am constantly telling him not to jump on my leg. I had my stitches out yesterday and my knee looks like Yoda’s face, and it means I’m now more vulnerable to his launches of affection.
- Time to concentrate on other things. Not being mobile means I can still blog, practice some calligraphy, and toot away on my trumpet. A side project I might start is to tame Millie’s feral rabbits which have been staring at me through the window.
- Managing the gnawing pain, and trying not to swear too much when the morphine ran out. It’s difficult to distract myself, especially as all I want to do is bend my bloody knee. Not being able to carry anything that isn’t strapped to my back means that cups of tea / bowls of soup must be consumed on the spot when I’m home alone.
- Stomach cramps are almost as bad as the knee itself. I won’t go into too much detail here, but I believe I can empathise a little better with the mothers out there.
- Laziness – a simple task like hopping to the loo is exhausting. When I pick up the book I’ve wanted to read for months I just nod off like an OAP in the corner. Before you ask, it’s a cracking read: Tim Butcher’s Chasing the Devil.
- The daily bee-sting belly injections have covered me in giant purple kisses.
- Forgetting what fresh air feels like – moving around is a mission, and opening the window and patio door was a triumph yesterday. Then one of our neighbours started a bonfire, and all my good work washing my hair went up in flames too. Bastard.
- Lucid dreams – Syd told me my leg looked like a sausage as it has ballooned up, and naturally that night I anxiously dreamt that Fred attacked my giant Cumberland leg.
- My run-in with the district nurse yesterday was rather traumatic, and merits its own blog post (coming soon).
- Not recovering quicker! I’m an impatient person, but I have to be realistic and careful not to rupture the transplanted graft. Even stairs are out of bounds for 6wks – it’s official, some toddlers have more freedom than me right now.
- Falling off the clock – now that I’m on sick leave, I feel lost without my usual routine. Rather than having lots of time, I’m just counting down the hours until everyone returns from work/school which can be a bit lonely.
- Being a burden, not just to my family and friends, but to my work colleagues too. Thankfully, I’m great company and do have other uses, such as helping with exam revision, settling family disputes (such as the unfortunate cake incident), and casting a deciding vote over affairs concerning the TV.
Pics clockwise from top L: a card from my colleagues, secret cuddles with Fred, my gnarly knee and Yoda, and how my face now looks with my new beauty regime.