This evening as I was driving to the Scout Hut to collect Tom from his 2nd taster / transition to Cubs (from Beavers) the Elbow song, 'One Day Like This', was playing on the radio. I parked the car and listened to the song in its entirity, and was taken back in time 3 years or so, to the Nuffield Orthopaedic Hospital in Oxford. I was recovering from surgery and the hospital radio fellows approached my bed and asked if I'd like a song played later. This was the song I chose.
So, tonight, instead of blogging further on the saga of the drains, the rains, the floods and the omnious doom-laden feeling of being David versus Goliath in my quest for what is right, I'll tell you instead the story of the time when I broke my leg, 10 years ago, snowboarding in Switzerland. And thank goodness for holiday travel insurance.
It was a stupid break. By which I mean there was no 'death or glory' (as our Israeli snow-buddies were want to shout), no half-pipe wipe outs, no board-cross kicker or net-tangle, no double black run, moguls or off-piste powder hidden rocks, and no sneaky skiers taking you out from behind... it was a lift accident, I only had myself to blame, and I did it good and proper.
The knack to getting off a T-bar lift if you're a snowboarder is .... not something I attained. The one time I got off the T-bar it got me. In as much as with 1 foot out of my binding I put it down to steady myself as I dismounted, and the foot with the snowboard attached whipped round so quickly I heard the bones snap.
Sorry if this is a little graphic. Everything became slow motion. Somehow I was on the floor, and there was an un-nerving howling sound, a primal scream, a stop-the-world-now-I-want-to-get-off sound, which I gradually realised was coming from me, so I stopped it. The way my foot was angled away from my knee was unnatural and although the adrenalin had prevented any actual pain from grabbing hold I instinctively knew not to move.
My instructor and the rest of my group quickly circled me and prevented any of the other disembarking skiers from coming my way. Then thankfully they stopped the lift altogether and after some time the blood-wagon arrived to stretcher me off the slopes. Headfirst and backward. Eek!!. I had very good care, the stretcher had a vacuum suction affair which carefully clamped onto the boot to secure the leg for the trip, and the stretcher bearer/puller was slow and gentle down the hill.
Simon came with me, and arranged for our friends to look after Phoebe for the rest of the day. We had a train carriage to ourselves to the bottom of the village, and then an ambulance to the clinic. At the clinic they had to take the boot off to take x-rays. This was the most unpleasant part of the experience. They refused to cut it off, I don't think they realised how bad the break was, or thought it was ligaments or something. Anyway, I confess I'm not proud, but I hyper-ventilated for the duration, which I hope never to repeat, the cramps in my fingers and hands were arthritic to look at.
The x-rays showed a spiral fracture of my left leg, both bones, tibia and fibula, so I was sent to the big hospital in the town for surgery. They said they'd pin it. As luck would have it I could go into theatre straight away without any anaesthetic worries as since breakfast all I'd had was 2 mouthfuls of water at 12noon when the accident happened, and it was by now 4.30pm.
After the proceedure I came to at 11.45pm, and once they were satisfied that I wasn't going to puke after the sips of water I was given I was moved into a room with 1 other bed in it.
It's a good test of your language ability to spend 6 days in a foreign hospital. The first, and most degrading hurdle, was needing a pee and using a bedpan - or as they say in french, le vase. It was one of the most difficult things I've every done, and went against every natural urge, to allow/will yourself to 'go' and let the stream flow, while you're still in bed. And peeing was unavoidable as they insisted you drink 2 litre bottles of the cloudy mineral water each day - I'm certain it was a high calcium content to assist the bone knitting.
The next morning I introduced myself to my room-mate, a nun, Soeur Marie-Robert. I couldn't have wished for a kinder, gentler, lovelier room mate than she. She was 86, spoke no English, French was her second language, and had had knee surgery. She improved my French vocabulary, and was equally content in the quietness of the room, a more patient patient you couldn't wish to meet, and I was glad to have met her.
After a few days Soeur Marie-Robert was recovered enough to return to her convent, and we said our goodbyes. My next room mate was a complete contrast and unforgettable. Babette was loud, 60 something, glamorous, and a chatterbox. She had a mobile phone, a television wheeled in, and visitors most of the day. She insisted I asked the nurse for some drugs, something to help me sleep, or ear-plugs because, she apologised, in the night she would 'ronfleurer, ronfleurer tres mal'. I didn't need the dictionary to find out that she snored. Sadly I wasn't given any drugs to help me sleep as they would interfere with the other medication I was prescribed, but she would have done any army platoon proud. And sleep was impossible.
By day 6 after the break, I was finally managing crutches without passing out in a faint - whether this was a side effect of the altitude, the anaesthetic, or having low blood pressure from being in bed so long I don't know, but it's a little like being drunk, and you don't want to be in that position with a newly pinned broken leg.
Discharged from the hospital with the expectation that the pin would probably be taken out after 18mths to 2 years..... ho hum.
So another ambulance ride - this time to the airport, and I was given a whole row of seats right at the back of the plane, so I could sit sideways and have my leg elevated. Met at the other airport and ambulanced home. Eventually got a prescription from my GP for pain killers and arranged to see a consultant at the West Middlesex General Hospital... who said they'd leave the pin in, indefinitely, unless it bothers you.
And I'll say more about that the next time! For the completists among you, here follow the lyrics to that song, the one which started this posting.
Nighty night. Kat.
"One Day Like This" by Elbow
So, tonight, instead of blogging further on the saga of the drains, the rains, the floods and the omnious doom-laden feeling of being David versus Goliath in my quest for what is right, I'll tell you instead the story of the time when I broke my leg, 10 years ago, snowboarding in Switzerland. And thank goodness for holiday travel insurance.
It was a stupid break. By which I mean there was no 'death or glory' (as our Israeli snow-buddies were want to shout), no half-pipe wipe outs, no board-cross kicker or net-tangle, no double black run, moguls or off-piste powder hidden rocks, and no sneaky skiers taking you out from behind... it was a lift accident, I only had myself to blame, and I did it good and proper.
The knack to getting off a T-bar lift if you're a snowboarder is .... not something I attained. The one time I got off the T-bar it got me. In as much as with 1 foot out of my binding I put it down to steady myself as I dismounted, and the foot with the snowboard attached whipped round so quickly I heard the bones snap.
Sorry if this is a little graphic. Everything became slow motion. Somehow I was on the floor, and there was an un-nerving howling sound, a primal scream, a stop-the-world-now-I-want-to-get-off sound, which I gradually realised was coming from me, so I stopped it. The way my foot was angled away from my knee was unnatural and although the adrenalin had prevented any actual pain from grabbing hold I instinctively knew not to move.
My instructor and the rest of my group quickly circled me and prevented any of the other disembarking skiers from coming my way. Then thankfully they stopped the lift altogether and after some time the blood-wagon arrived to stretcher me off the slopes. Headfirst and backward. Eek!!. I had very good care, the stretcher had a vacuum suction affair which carefully clamped onto the boot to secure the leg for the trip, and the stretcher bearer/puller was slow and gentle down the hill.
Simon came with me, and arranged for our friends to look after Phoebe for the rest of the day. We had a train carriage to ourselves to the bottom of the village, and then an ambulance to the clinic. At the clinic they had to take the boot off to take x-rays. This was the most unpleasant part of the experience. They refused to cut it off, I don't think they realised how bad the break was, or thought it was ligaments or something. Anyway, I confess I'm not proud, but I hyper-ventilated for the duration, which I hope never to repeat, the cramps in my fingers and hands were arthritic to look at.
The x-rays showed a spiral fracture of my left leg, both bones, tibia and fibula, so I was sent to the big hospital in the town for surgery. They said they'd pin it. As luck would have it I could go into theatre straight away without any anaesthetic worries as since breakfast all I'd had was 2 mouthfuls of water at 12noon when the accident happened, and it was by now 4.30pm.
After the proceedure I came to at 11.45pm, and once they were satisfied that I wasn't going to puke after the sips of water I was given I was moved into a room with 1 other bed in it.
It's a good test of your language ability to spend 6 days in a foreign hospital. The first, and most degrading hurdle, was needing a pee and using a bedpan - or as they say in french, le vase. It was one of the most difficult things I've every done, and went against every natural urge, to allow/will yourself to 'go' and let the stream flow, while you're still in bed. And peeing was unavoidable as they insisted you drink 2 litre bottles of the cloudy mineral water each day - I'm certain it was a high calcium content to assist the bone knitting.
The next morning I introduced myself to my room-mate, a nun, Soeur Marie-Robert. I couldn't have wished for a kinder, gentler, lovelier room mate than she. She was 86, spoke no English, French was her second language, and had had knee surgery. She improved my French vocabulary, and was equally content in the quietness of the room, a more patient patient you couldn't wish to meet, and I was glad to have met her.
After a few days Soeur Marie-Robert was recovered enough to return to her convent, and we said our goodbyes. My next room mate was a complete contrast and unforgettable. Babette was loud, 60 something, glamorous, and a chatterbox. She had a mobile phone, a television wheeled in, and visitors most of the day. She insisted I asked the nurse for some drugs, something to help me sleep, or ear-plugs because, she apologised, in the night she would 'ronfleurer, ronfleurer tres mal'. I didn't need the dictionary to find out that she snored. Sadly I wasn't given any drugs to help me sleep as they would interfere with the other medication I was prescribed, but she would have done any army platoon proud. And sleep was impossible.
By day 6 after the break, I was finally managing crutches without passing out in a faint - whether this was a side effect of the altitude, the anaesthetic, or having low blood pressure from being in bed so long I don't know, but it's a little like being drunk, and you don't want to be in that position with a newly pinned broken leg.
Discharged from the hospital with the expectation that the pin would probably be taken out after 18mths to 2 years..... ho hum.
So another ambulance ride - this time to the airport, and I was given a whole row of seats right at the back of the plane, so I could sit sideways and have my leg elevated. Met at the other airport and ambulanced home. Eventually got a prescription from my GP for pain killers and arranged to see a consultant at the West Middlesex General Hospital... who said they'd leave the pin in, indefinitely, unless it bothers you.
And I'll say more about that the next time! For the completists among you, here follow the lyrics to that song, the one which started this posting.
Nighty night. Kat.
"One Day Like This" by Elbow
Drinking in the morning sun
Blinking in the morning sun
Shaking off a heavy one
Yeah, heavy like a loaded gun
What made me behave that way?
Using words I never say
I can only think it must be love
Oh anyway, it's looking like a beautiful day
Someone tell me how I feel
It's silly wrong, but vivid right
Oh, kiss me like a final meal
Yeah, kiss me like we die tonight
'Cause holy cow, I love your eyes
And only now I see the light
Yeah, lying with you half awake
Stumbling over what to say
Oh, anyway, it's looking like a beautiful day
When my face is chamois creased
If you think I wink, I did
Laugh politely at repeats
Yeah, kiss me when my lips are thin
'Cause holy cow, I love your eyes
And only now I see the light
Yeah, lying with you half awake
Stumbling over what to say
Well, anyway, it's looking like a beautiful day
So throw those curtains wide
One day like this a year would see me right
Throw those curtains wide
One day like this a year would see me right
Throw those curtains wide
One day like this a year would see me right
Throw those curtains wide
One day like this a year would see me right for life
Throw those curtains wide
'Cause holy cow, I love your eyes
One day like this a year would see me right
And only now I see the light
Throw those curtains wide
'Cause holy cow, I love your eyes
One day like this a year would see me right
And only now I see the light
Throw those curtains wide
One day like this a year would see me right
Throw those curtains wide
One day like this a year would see me right
Throw those curtains wide
One day like this a year would see me right
Throw those curtains wide
One day like this a year would see me right
Blinking in the morning sun
Shaking off a heavy one
Yeah, heavy like a loaded gun
What made me behave that way?
Using words I never say
I can only think it must be love
Oh anyway, it's looking like a beautiful day
Someone tell me how I feel
It's silly wrong, but vivid right
Oh, kiss me like a final meal
Yeah, kiss me like we die tonight
'Cause holy cow, I love your eyes
And only now I see the light
Yeah, lying with you half awake
Stumbling over what to say
Oh, anyway, it's looking like a beautiful day
When my face is chamois creased
If you think I wink, I did
Laugh politely at repeats
Yeah, kiss me when my lips are thin
'Cause holy cow, I love your eyes
And only now I see the light
Yeah, lying with you half awake
Stumbling over what to say
Well, anyway, it's looking like a beautiful day
So throw those curtains wide
One day like this a year would see me right
Throw those curtains wide
One day like this a year would see me right
Throw those curtains wide
One day like this a year would see me right
Throw those curtains wide
One day like this a year would see me right for life
Throw those curtains wide
'Cause holy cow, I love your eyes
One day like this a year would see me right
And only now I see the light
Throw those curtains wide
'Cause holy cow, I love your eyes
One day like this a year would see me right
And only now I see the light
Throw those curtains wide
One day like this a year would see me right
Throw those curtains wide
One day like this a year would see me right
Throw those curtains wide
One day like this a year would see me right
Throw those curtains wide
One day like this a year would see me right
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