Hospital + 4 weeks (Fin?)

It’s been four weeks since the accident (and four weeks since I started this blog strand) and probably the first week I’ve actually started walking like an ordinary person - well, an ordinary person with a walking stick, at least.

The muscles in the leg (especially the thigh) still feel tightly knotted, although not as tense as last week and it’s still a little painful to actually sit down. The left leg still looks noticeably swollen when compared to the right leg (which stays next to it and refuses to go away, shaming it by its mere presence). The toes of my left foot are still numb (no doubt the nerve ends will take a long time to repair themselves). Going upstairs is no problem if I take it at a measured pace, but coming downstairs still has to be done with care. And my hips still ache (especially the left one), having taken such a pounding with the twisted contortions they‘ve been forced into in my attempts to walk this past month..

One move remains difficult to execute: bending down to pick something up off the floor. It all has be done with the right leg bending and taking all the weight, while the left leg sticks straight out behind me like some spastic ballet dancer at the barre.
Consequently, things that have fallen on the floor around the flat (newspapers, notes, CDs, plastic bags, odd bits of packaging) have been left where they fell. It will all get cleared up eventually, of course, but for the present I couldn’t care less. [At least I haven’t dropped any food].

I have put on a few pounds in weight over the weeks (due to restricted - if any! - exercising) but that will be put right with a week of desperate fasting.

I do feel however that, lifestyle-speed and even energy-wise, my life (on advice from my body) has stepped down a gear. That means no more pogo-ing in the mosh pit for me.

I’ve certainly come to the realisation that:-

(a) for the rest of my life, this left leg - however much it recovers - will still be noticeably weaker than the other leg… and…



(b) I shall probably be using a walking stick for the rest of my days. Admittedly, this decision possibly has more to do with fashion and my new-found desire to amass a dazzling collection of walking canes than absolute physical necessity. But it’s always comforting to have that stick there should the left kneecap suddenly throw a wobbly and give out on me as it could do - it’s my Plan B.



(c) …and that favourite pair of scarlet patent shoes will have to go. No more stilettos for me.

So the message going out to future suitors is: Love Me, Love my Leg!

Still, let’s look on the bright side: this will probably be the last blog I write on the subject of my accident. (Do I hear a collective sigh of relief amongst the anonymous huddled masses out there in the darkness?). Even though I am clearly not a well man, I shall soldier on, suffering in silence, as has been my practise throughout this 56-year-long bad-hair-day I call a life. So this is how it ends.

And if you see me on the street with my walking cane, suit and bow tie, please cast your glance at me with a charitable eye and offer up your seat on the bus. (One’s entire life has been made tolerable through the kindness of strangers). And I shall regale you with tales of the astonishing recuperative powers of the human body.

















(As if).

…And thus, over time, the body slowly revolts against its wearer.