The Big Day

The big day finally arrived, it was time to go back to the hospital to remove the
cast. What would they do, would it hurt, what about the staples that they used
instead of stitches, was I expected to get up and walk away freely, would I be able to???? So many questions were going through my mind, I was nervous as
all h..l. Getting to the hospital was the easy part, all I had to do was sit back and
relax one last time as I was wheeled out in my Rolls Royce of chairs, to the awaiting taxi.

Now if none have you (thankfully) have ever broken a limb, I highly recommend that you do so in the 'off season' months, peak periods being Summer holidays,
Winter holidays and any other festive occasions that may take place according
to your personal religious calendar. Breaking a bone during the Olympic period
just ensured the fact that the accommodation at the hospital was fully booked and
so ensuring that the take off plaster date would also be overcrowded and the
waiting long. In truth I had become quite a dab hand at the waiting game, having undergone a series of blood tests, plaster change and doctor appointments to name but a few, so I always came well prepared with a book or
magazine, settling down quietly and calmly whilst others around me would fret
and complain at the length of the queues for the x ray or doctor.

My turn finally came, two hours late and with my limbs trembling, I went in for
the visit. Off to the plaster room, the surgeon commanded and off I was pushed.
I am not sure whether being the passenger or the driver is the more harassing of the two, as one has to be maneuvered through a series of extended plaster limbs and an array of wheelchairs, that would put any traffic jam to shame!
'hop on the bed' the attendant cried, 'hum, how?' I replied. Seeing that I was
lacking in height and physical ability, weakened by my long stay on wheels, he
lowered the table assisting me to alight. Now came the scary moment, I begged
him to be gentle, unashamedly admitting that I was scared. To his credit, he was gentle with my shaking limbs and I was amazed at such neat scaring.

Back at the surgeons post, I was told 'physiotherapy, full weight and make
another appointment for another op in a month, to remove one of the offending
screws'. Let me assure you that getting up and re-walking sounds easier than it
is. If you just break the bones, it is less harrowing, as you know that there is all
kinds of steel in there to hold all parts together, but when the muscles, tendons
or ligaments are effected, this is another 'kettle of fish'. Bless the man's heart, he is great at his job, but his bedside information manual is lacking to say the
least and as I albeit reluctantly said goodbye to my carriage, that I had become quite accustomed to during the period of my confinement, it was eagerly snapped up by another patient waiting in the wings to try it out.

So now, here I was, being told to try out some new crutches that would
encourage me to take steps and not hold me securely under the arms, I was to
say the least, terrified. It is difficult to explain from what, because the fear is
irrational. You know you are being held together by steel, but the dread is the
re fall that you have gone over in your memory so many a time in the past.
But here I was, being forced out of my safe cocoon and told to go out into the
big world again and take my first baby steps again, 50 odd years later.