I'm the one in our house who goes round switching the lights off in the rooms that have been left vacant, but the last person left the light on. I like to think I'm an environ-mentalist, with the emphasis on the mental. You've got to laugh, or else you'd cry.
So, as usual, there's too much going on to capture it all. I've worked today in Witney Library - not my usual day, but I was glad to cover, and the extra hours will be useful. When I got home around 5.45pm the 'slow 20mph school' sign had been moved from in front of the derelict building next door, to the grass verge which is directly in front of our house. It being the logical and available space. Prior to the demolition of the building next door. In the process of moving it the sign they'd also knocked out the street light, so we're now bathed in an eerie darkness for the first time, which is more than a little unnerving.....
I'm trying not to let it get me down, but aside from the house next door having been boarded up (to stop squatters) for the last 18 months, it's the next visible sign that the developers and utilities are grinding away at the process and the inevitable is going to happen. No. Not dwelling on it any longer, I'll only get wound up.
So, instead, to amuse one and all, and mainly myself, here's the follow up story to the saga of breaking my leg 10 years ago.....
When I broke my leg, and had it pinned, I'd no idea what the consequences would be. 14 weeks off work. Not able to make myself a cup of tea. Well. I could hobble in the kitchen and make the tea, slowly and carefully, at a worktop, but once it was made, I couldn't carry it anywhere to sit down and drink it as I was on crutches.... argh.
And there was physio, and removal of stitches, and muscle atrophy (surprising how quickly those unused muscles waste away!). And the biggest disappointment was not making the metal detectors in the airport go beep. I mean, I had a 33cm long pin in my tibia, and they couldn't detect it. What's that all about? I tried using the special gadget on my leg, which you use in DIY to check walls for electric wires and pipework before drilling and causing a disaster, and that would happily go 'beep' along my leg....
And, the consultant in the West Middlesex General Hospital explained that they wouldn't take the pin out unless there was a problem, and so it stayed in until December 2011.
So, here's the thing. When the pin was in my leg, everything was fine, but it would give me a twinge every now and then, as if to say 'remember me?'. If the weather was about to change, my leg would tell me - I felt like a wise woman, and would cackle witch-like to myself. But as time wore on I could feel the pin. Inside my leg. It wasn't painful. More of an awareness. A knowing. A sense that something wasn't quite right. It didn't hurt, but I knew and became more aware. And when I was trying to get fit and was out jogging (don't laugh) with a friend, she said that I jogged with a limp. I favoured it.
So I went to my GP, who referred me to the specialist, who listened and explained that this was perfectly normal. Under the circumstances. Bone is flexible to a point. Metal is flexible to a point. But the two materials flex in different ways, hence my sensation, the feeling, the knowing. It was time for the pin to come out.
The x-rays also confirmed something my friends had known for some time. I had a screw loose. No seriously. One of the screws holding the pin in place in my leg had somehow broken the head off, which would also indicate that the bone repair was stronger than the metal. Fantastic things bodies. Never underestimate them.
So the nice specialist at the Nuffield Orthopaedic Centre in Oxford said he'd take the pin out for me in the October. And it was cancelled, and another date set, which was also cancelled, and the final date set was 19th December 2011 - should be home after 2 days, fantastic, Christmas on crutches, so no work for me!
My only concern was how would he remove the pin if the screw was broken? No problem he said. He'd go in the way the screw went in, take the loose head out, then carefully hammer and chisel (?) it out the other side, so I'd get an extra scar. I sort of wish I hadn't asked.
Everything went fine, and I once again became acquainted with the the indignity of the bedpan, but this time in an English hospital. My ward consisted of 2 more mature ladies opposite me whose names I've forgotten, one who had fallen and broken her arm, and in the process of having it set had suffered a broken shoulder, so was quite incapacitated, I'll call her 'Doris'. The other lady had had knee surgery and was very chatty about her housing problems and the need for hand rails being installed in her bathroom before she was prepared to go home, I'll call her 'Rose'.
The bed next to me was initially empty but later on was filled by a younger woman who had had spinal surgery and was laid flat face down for the first 12 hours and was weeping quietly. When she was eventually allowed to turn over she turned out to be a difficult patient, although what she'd been through must have been awful. We didn't speak.
Although the surgery was a success the process of adjusting to using crutches and standing upright was again a challenge. Whether my blood pressure was the thing, or the fact that you're lying down most of the day, but when first presented with crutches I felt dizzy again, like blacking out. They took no chances and put me straight back to bed.
Eventually, I think it was third day lucky. The physio came round, I was dressed and ready to give it a go. I stood up and gave the thumbs up to Rose. Doris was having a nap, but I was determined to go to the bathroom myself - using a bedpan in a great motivator.
Freedom! I got into my stride, and made it to the bathroom, accompanied by the physio. And then I realised that I wasn't going to make it. I asked for a stool to sit on so I could concentrate on my breathing. I think the physio said she'd get me a wheelchair - although I'm sure she never left me, and then the room started to spin, and when I woke up I was lying on my bed, with my head lowered and my feet raised, and a fan blowing in my face.
According to Rose it was the best thing she'd seen since she'd been admitted. She said 'Gawd, they can run when they have to, and you were a funny colour, you look better now, can you do it again, Doris missed it, she was asleep!'
Ah me, happy daze.
Kat.
So, as usual, there's too much going on to capture it all. I've worked today in Witney Library - not my usual day, but I was glad to cover, and the extra hours will be useful. When I got home around 5.45pm the 'slow 20mph school' sign had been moved from in front of the derelict building next door, to the grass verge which is directly in front of our house. It being the logical and available space. Prior to the demolition of the building next door. In the process of moving it the sign they'd also knocked out the street light, so we're now bathed in an eerie darkness for the first time, which is more than a little unnerving.....
I'm trying not to let it get me down, but aside from the house next door having been boarded up (to stop squatters) for the last 18 months, it's the next visible sign that the developers and utilities are grinding away at the process and the inevitable is going to happen. No. Not dwelling on it any longer, I'll only get wound up.
So, instead, to amuse one and all, and mainly myself, here's the follow up story to the saga of breaking my leg 10 years ago.....
When I broke my leg, and had it pinned, I'd no idea what the consequences would be. 14 weeks off work. Not able to make myself a cup of tea. Well. I could hobble in the kitchen and make the tea, slowly and carefully, at a worktop, but once it was made, I couldn't carry it anywhere to sit down and drink it as I was on crutches.... argh.
And there was physio, and removal of stitches, and muscle atrophy (surprising how quickly those unused muscles waste away!). And the biggest disappointment was not making the metal detectors in the airport go beep. I mean, I had a 33cm long pin in my tibia, and they couldn't detect it. What's that all about? I tried using the special gadget on my leg, which you use in DIY to check walls for electric wires and pipework before drilling and causing a disaster, and that would happily go 'beep' along my leg....
And, the consultant in the West Middlesex General Hospital explained that they wouldn't take the pin out unless there was a problem, and so it stayed in until December 2011.
So, here's the thing. When the pin was in my leg, everything was fine, but it would give me a twinge every now and then, as if to say 'remember me?'. If the weather was about to change, my leg would tell me - I felt like a wise woman, and would cackle witch-like to myself. But as time wore on I could feel the pin. Inside my leg. It wasn't painful. More of an awareness. A knowing. A sense that something wasn't quite right. It didn't hurt, but I knew and became more aware. And when I was trying to get fit and was out jogging (don't laugh) with a friend, she said that I jogged with a limp. I favoured it.
So I went to my GP, who referred me to the specialist, who listened and explained that this was perfectly normal. Under the circumstances. Bone is flexible to a point. Metal is flexible to a point. But the two materials flex in different ways, hence my sensation, the feeling, the knowing. It was time for the pin to come out.
The x-rays also confirmed something my friends had known for some time. I had a screw loose. No seriously. One of the screws holding the pin in place in my leg had somehow broken the head off, which would also indicate that the bone repair was stronger than the metal. Fantastic things bodies. Never underestimate them.
So the nice specialist at the Nuffield Orthopaedic Centre in Oxford said he'd take the pin out for me in the October. And it was cancelled, and another date set, which was also cancelled, and the final date set was 19th December 2011 - should be home after 2 days, fantastic, Christmas on crutches, so no work for me!
My only concern was how would he remove the pin if the screw was broken? No problem he said. He'd go in the way the screw went in, take the loose head out, then carefully hammer and chisel (?) it out the other side, so I'd get an extra scar. I sort of wish I hadn't asked.
Everything went fine, and I once again became acquainted with the the indignity of the bedpan, but this time in an English hospital. My ward consisted of 2 more mature ladies opposite me whose names I've forgotten, one who had fallen and broken her arm, and in the process of having it set had suffered a broken shoulder, so was quite incapacitated, I'll call her 'Doris'. The other lady had had knee surgery and was very chatty about her housing problems and the need for hand rails being installed in her bathroom before she was prepared to go home, I'll call her 'Rose'.
The bed next to me was initially empty but later on was filled by a younger woman who had had spinal surgery and was laid flat face down for the first 12 hours and was weeping quietly. When she was eventually allowed to turn over she turned out to be a difficult patient, although what she'd been through must have been awful. We didn't speak.
Although the surgery was a success the process of adjusting to using crutches and standing upright was again a challenge. Whether my blood pressure was the thing, or the fact that you're lying down most of the day, but when first presented with crutches I felt dizzy again, like blacking out. They took no chances and put me straight back to bed.
Eventually, I think it was third day lucky. The physio came round, I was dressed and ready to give it a go. I stood up and gave the thumbs up to Rose. Doris was having a nap, but I was determined to go to the bathroom myself - using a bedpan in a great motivator.
Freedom! I got into my stride, and made it to the bathroom, accompanied by the physio. And then I realised that I wasn't going to make it. I asked for a stool to sit on so I could concentrate on my breathing. I think the physio said she'd get me a wheelchair - although I'm sure she never left me, and then the room started to spin, and when I woke up I was lying on my bed, with my head lowered and my feet raised, and a fan blowing in my face.
According to Rose it was the best thing she'd seen since she'd been admitted. She said 'Gawd, they can run when they have to, and you were a funny colour, you look better now, can you do it again, Doris missed it, she was asleep!'
Ah me, happy daze.
Kat.
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