Made it to church yesterday - yay! Sooo good to be back. Made a sort of bed for myself on the corner seat at the back and was quite comfortable.
Great to see everyone again and to be able to worship God in that way you can't quite do when it's just you on your own.
Think I might have overdone things a bit over last few days - we went out on Saturday afternoon as well. - as the leg was quite painful yesterday afternoon. I ended up taking some strong painkiller to help me sleep last night. I love going out in the car but each little bump hurts the leg a bit. Took it easy today anyway.
Monday, 24 August 2015
Curry and frustration in the night
I just have this little problem at the moment - the cast, my fourth one, is still not all that comfortable. In fact 'trying to get comfortable' is my new hobby, involving frequent rearranging of cushions and pillows and rolled-up towels. I think I'm just going to have to hang on until my 'two weeks after the operation appointment' later this week which is actually nearly four weeks after the operation as the consultant's been on holiday.
On Thursday evening we went to a Curry Night which was to say goodbye to three people from church who are leaving to go to Bible Colleges, one of them being 'Melanie'. It was lovely to be there and a really nice evening even if I was described as a 'dalek', with the legs of the stool I brought to rest the leg on, sticking out in front of me as I entered.
That night I couldn't get comfortable. Again and again I tried re-arranging my pile of pillows. Again and again I tried reading to send me to sleep. Nothing worked. I prayed to God to help me but it didn't get any better and the leg was hurting. I was calling out to Him and it was like He wasn't there. I wanted P to wake up and he didn't. I felt like I was alone in the universe. In the darkness I sat and cried with frustration.
At some point I must have fallen asleep because I woke up the next morning.
I remembered something I heard the Bible teacher Jill Briscoe say: "When you can't feel Him by feelings feel Him by faith."
It might have felt like God wasn't there in the night but of course He was. And he loves me. And He doesn't want me to be ill or in pain, I know that. I don't understand why it has to be so hard sometimes but I know He'll get me through and I know too that there are other people for whom it's a lot worse.
Keep trusting and keep praising.
On Thursday evening we went to a Curry Night which was to say goodbye to three people from church who are leaving to go to Bible Colleges, one of them being 'Melanie'. It was lovely to be there and a really nice evening even if I was described as a 'dalek', with the legs of the stool I brought to rest the leg on, sticking out in front of me as I entered.
That night I couldn't get comfortable. Again and again I tried re-arranging my pile of pillows. Again and again I tried reading to send me to sleep. Nothing worked. I prayed to God to help me but it didn't get any better and the leg was hurting. I was calling out to Him and it was like He wasn't there. I wanted P to wake up and he didn't. I felt like I was alone in the universe. In the darkness I sat and cried with frustration.
At some point I must have fallen asleep because I woke up the next morning.
I remembered something I heard the Bible teacher Jill Briscoe say: "When you can't feel Him by feelings feel Him by faith."
It might have felt like God wasn't there in the night but of course He was. And he loves me. And He doesn't want me to be ill or in pain, I know that. I don't understand why it has to be so hard sometimes but I know He'll get me through and I know too that there are other people for whom it's a lot worse.
Keep trusting and keep praising.
Exam results
While we were in the waiting room Becky texted me Tim's GCSE results -
he'd done well enough to stay on at Sixth Form and had got 7 As which
is pretty good. Tim was away on scout camp and she'd got his results on-line. She came round after we got home with her ipad. Exam results these days are complicated. There's a column of letters at the top and a whole load of figures at the bottom and if you're a parent you have a tendency to look at it and say; "What does it all mean?"
We eventually got it sussed and she decided there wasn't much point in trying to get any of his papers re-marked as he wasn't close enough to any of the grade-boundaries (we didn't have words like that in my day) to get an A* (we didn't have A* in my day either).
Actually I think I've just about got to grips with the school exam system now, now we're nearly at the end of it all.
Perhaps I should just mention J's exam results. As expected he did really well in Maths, Further Maths and Physics (in fact he did very, very well in some of his Maths modules). However Chemistry was a bit of a shock - two grades lower than he expected. Strangely a lot of other people in his year also got unexpected Chemistry results. One girl was given zero marks which seems very odd and understandably she was in floods of tears.
As J was only two marks below the next grade we decided to apply for a re-mark. This cost us £45 for each of the two papers to be marked and £10 for each paper to be returned - a total of £110! But then it is our child's future possibly at stake. Paper 1 came back with exactly the same mark and we waited a few more days for Paper 2. Finally the email popped up - 7 marks higher which took him up to the next grade - phew. And we receive £45 back which means the exam board has made £67 out of marking his exam wrong. Something just doesn't seem right about this. We haven't got the actual papers back yet so can't work out what happened.
Anyway J has done well enough to apply to the unis he likes - yay - well done J.
Oh and he passed his piano exam as well.
We eventually got it sussed and she decided there wasn't much point in trying to get any of his papers re-marked as he wasn't close enough to any of the grade-boundaries (we didn't have words like that in my day) to get an A* (we didn't have A* in my day either).
Actually I think I've just about got to grips with the school exam system now, now we're nearly at the end of it all.
Perhaps I should just mention J's exam results. As expected he did really well in Maths, Further Maths and Physics (in fact he did very, very well in some of his Maths modules). However Chemistry was a bit of a shock - two grades lower than he expected. Strangely a lot of other people in his year also got unexpected Chemistry results. One girl was given zero marks which seems very odd and understandably she was in floods of tears.
As J was only two marks below the next grade we decided to apply for a re-mark. This cost us £45 for each of the two papers to be marked and £10 for each paper to be returned - a total of £110! But then it is our child's future possibly at stake. Paper 1 came back with exactly the same mark and we waited a few more days for Paper 2. Finally the email popped up - 7 marks higher which took him up to the next grade - phew. And we receive £45 back which means the exam board has made £67 out of marking his exam wrong. Something just doesn't seem right about this. We haven't got the actual papers back yet so can't work out what happened.
Anyway J has done well enough to apply to the unis he likes - yay - well done J.
Oh and he passed his piano exam as well.
Flat leg
Having worked out how to get into the car I decided to see if I could get the plaster changed as I felt it had become a bit loose. They said I could come in on Tuesday. P tried to slightly complicate things by giving his date of birth instead of mine but they sorted it out and we didn't have to wait long. Yes it had got a bit loose as knee swelling reduced and it was rubbing a bit. The circular saw was a bit scary but it was nice to see my knee again and the operation wound looks like it's healing well. It was quite a quick job to put on a new cast. We headed off for a quick drink in the coffee shop then went through our getting-into-the-car routine and joined the queue to get out of the car park. And there we sat for a whole hour. I began to wonder if we would actually spend the entire rest of our lives there but finally we were out.
There were three people we met 'by coincidence' while I was in hospital - one was the woman from our old church whose mum had broken her hip, another was a couple who P used to work with - she prayed for me in the corridor and the other was a friend we hadn't seen for a while whose daughter had been admitted as she really wasn't well. The night of the operation when I really couldn't sleep, as the oxygen cylinder kept me awake by hissing, I spent praying for this girl which made me feel perhaps a little bit of good had come out of this whole experience.
Anyway we called round on the way home to drop off a card for her as she's been transferred to a unit elsewhere. Then after that we popped into Lidl to see if they'd got the biscuits J likes. If you think this is far too much for my first car journey you're right.
After we'd been home a while I thought my calf felt a bit squashed and my foot a bit numb. Then I felt the back of my leg and it was completely flat! Resting it on a hard surface while it set had obviously caused this to happen. I spent that night and the next morning wondering if I could cope with a flat leg and decided yes I could but not with numb toes so it was back again on Thursday.
The nurse got P to hold my leg up for 30 minutes so it would set properly - you're a hero P.
There were three people we met 'by coincidence' while I was in hospital - one was the woman from our old church whose mum had broken her hip, another was a couple who P used to work with - she prayed for me in the corridor and the other was a friend we hadn't seen for a while whose daughter had been admitted as she really wasn't well. The night of the operation when I really couldn't sleep, as the oxygen cylinder kept me awake by hissing, I spent praying for this girl which made me feel perhaps a little bit of good had come out of this whole experience.
Anyway we called round on the way home to drop off a card for her as she's been transferred to a unit elsewhere. Then after that we popped into Lidl to see if they'd got the biscuits J likes. If you think this is far too much for my first car journey you're right.
After we'd been home a while I thought my calf felt a bit squashed and my foot a bit numb. Then I felt the back of my leg and it was completely flat! Resting it on a hard surface while it set had obviously caused this to happen. I spent that night and the next morning wondering if I could cope with a flat leg and decided yes I could but not with numb toes so it was back again on Thursday.
The nurse got P to hold my leg up for 30 minutes so it would set properly - you're a hero P.
Getting into the car
This is how I get in the car:
P pushes me in wheelchair into living room, opens both french doors and puts ramp into position. He then carries walking frame to car. He pushes me down ramp while I call out "Not too fast!"
He lines wheelchair up parallel to car and just behind rear door. He removes wheelchair leg support while I hold the leg. He helps me to my foot and holds the leg and I lean on walking frame. With him still holding the leg I pivot on my left foot so I rotate through ninety degrees. Then as he still holds the leg I lower myself onto the seat. He lifts the leg so that it rests on plastic bit between two front seats. Then he loads the wheelchair, leg support and walking frame into the back of the car.
Then comes the difficult bit - I do up my seat-belt - our rear ones are really tricky.
P pushes me in wheelchair into living room, opens both french doors and puts ramp into position. He then carries walking frame to car. He pushes me down ramp while I call out "Not too fast!"
He lines wheelchair up parallel to car and just behind rear door. He removes wheelchair leg support while I hold the leg. He helps me to my foot and holds the leg and I lean on walking frame. With him still holding the leg I pivot on my left foot so I rotate through ninety degrees. Then as he still holds the leg I lower myself onto the seat. He lifts the leg so that it rests on plastic bit between two front seats. Then he loads the wheelchair, leg support and walking frame into the back of the car.
Then comes the difficult bit - I do up my seat-belt - our rear ones are really tricky.
What me - a flower arranger?
I've been given lots of flowers which is wonderful. I love flowers.
What
I don't like is arranging flowers. While recovering from an operation
several years ago two large bouquets arrived. I thought I'd just arrange
them in a vase - should be simple enough. P arrived home to find me
slumped sobbing on the floor surrounded by stalks.
Tuesday, 18 August 2015
How To Get To Sleep
Gradually it got better in that we got into a routine and found out what
worked and what didn't. Eventually I gave up on the sofa because it was
just too hard to get off again - transferring from a high hospital bed
to the walking frame was one thing, from a low sofa with saggy cushions
quite another. We had a friend who developed MS (who sadly passed away
in 2001) and I used to wonder why she just sat in the wheelchair all the
time. Now I know - because it was easier.
We perfected the getting the wheelchair at 90 degrees to the base of the bed, P helping me turn and slide onto the bed and pull myself up technique.
We even managed to work out how to sit with the leg under the table.
Life at the moment still is either lying in bed or sitting in the wheelchair but it's ok, things are moving in the right direction. Today for the first time P pushed me outside and it was lovely to sit in the sun and hear the birds singing and wish I could dead-head the flowers. I've also managed to lower the leg for a while and today I stood, holding onto the walking frame and briefly rested the leg on a cushion on the floor. Rehabilitation is going to be a different journey for me than for most people who would by now be beginning to try out their crutches but I know God is with me and I'll get there. I feel hugely thankful that the operation was a success because apparently sometimes with injuries like this the bones can't be put back together and the knee-cap has to be removed. That just isn't a very good thought.
When I first got home I felt very sick and dizzy and the pain was bad. Gradually things have improved and I'm off most of the painkillers now, although I still take a couple at night which is when the cast comes into its own as a disruptor of sleep. It is just plain uncomfortable and every night involves arranging and re-arranging cushions in a desperate attempt to get comfortable and every so often waking P up as well. In the middle of last night, unable to sleep, I picked up a small book on learning Welsh. I woke up half way through the book with the light still on, I didn't seem to learn any Welsh though which I'd like to do as we visit there quite often. I wonder how many other languages I could not learn in order to get some sleep.
We perfected the getting the wheelchair at 90 degrees to the base of the bed, P helping me turn and slide onto the bed and pull myself up technique.
We even managed to work out how to sit with the leg under the table.
Life at the moment still is either lying in bed or sitting in the wheelchair but it's ok, things are moving in the right direction. Today for the first time P pushed me outside and it was lovely to sit in the sun and hear the birds singing and wish I could dead-head the flowers. I've also managed to lower the leg for a while and today I stood, holding onto the walking frame and briefly rested the leg on a cushion on the floor. Rehabilitation is going to be a different journey for me than for most people who would by now be beginning to try out their crutches but I know God is with me and I'll get there. I feel hugely thankful that the operation was a success because apparently sometimes with injuries like this the bones can't be put back together and the knee-cap has to be removed. That just isn't a very good thought.
When I first got home I felt very sick and dizzy and the pain was bad. Gradually things have improved and I'm off most of the painkillers now, although I still take a couple at night which is when the cast comes into its own as a disruptor of sleep. It is just plain uncomfortable and every night involves arranging and re-arranging cushions in a desperate attempt to get comfortable and every so often waking P up as well. In the middle of last night, unable to sleep, I picked up a small book on learning Welsh. I woke up half way through the book with the light still on, I didn't seem to learn any Welsh though which I'd like to do as we visit there quite often. I wonder how many other languages I could not learn in order to get some sleep.
Back Home But Not Easy
J was waiting on the road to direct the ambulance in (turn left by the teenager).
The ambulance man didn't really do his hernia any good getting me and the trolley up the ramp through our French doors and in to our living room but he was having his operation on the Monday anyway.
It just felt a bit strange being back home, sitting there in my wheelchair with the leg sticking out. I was struck by the realisation that I couldn't go anywhere - not from the chair to the sofa, from the chair to bed, to the bathroom, anywhere without someone moving me.
Then I needed to go to the bathroom. As P pushed me through the dining area I saw my slipper-boots lying on the floor under the table where they'd been left when I fell. Instantly I burst into tears. I've heard this reaction is quite common after an accident. When my brother opened the shed door after coming home from hospital and saw that there was still a little bit of his hand attached to the bow saw he said it was definitely a wobbly moment.
There was a more immediate issue to deal with though - a bookcase would have to be moved in order for me, the wheelchair and sticking out leg to negotiate the tuen into the bathroom. So P and J were dragging a large wobbly bookcase, which looked like it would topple over at any minute, along the corridor and I was sitting in the wheelchair sobbing.
Getting me in and out of the bathroom was difficult and the sticking out foot-support narrowly missed the glass shower door. Getting me onto the sofa was difficult and getting me off again almost impossible. Getting me back into the bathroom again and ready for bed was difficult and so was getting me into bed.
Were we going to be able to cope?
The ambulance man didn't really do his hernia any good getting me and the trolley up the ramp through our French doors and in to our living room but he was having his operation on the Monday anyway.
It just felt a bit strange being back home, sitting there in my wheelchair with the leg sticking out. I was struck by the realisation that I couldn't go anywhere - not from the chair to the sofa, from the chair to bed, to the bathroom, anywhere without someone moving me.
Then I needed to go to the bathroom. As P pushed me through the dining area I saw my slipper-boots lying on the floor under the table where they'd been left when I fell. Instantly I burst into tears. I've heard this reaction is quite common after an accident. When my brother opened the shed door after coming home from hospital and saw that there was still a little bit of his hand attached to the bow saw he said it was definitely a wobbly moment.
There was a more immediate issue to deal with though - a bookcase would have to be moved in order for me, the wheelchair and sticking out leg to negotiate the tuen into the bathroom. So P and J were dragging a large wobbly bookcase, which looked like it would topple over at any minute, along the corridor and I was sitting in the wheelchair sobbing.
Getting me in and out of the bathroom was difficult and the sticking out foot-support narrowly missed the glass shower door. Getting me onto the sofa was difficult and getting me off again almost impossible. Getting me back into the bathroom again and ready for bed was difficult and so was getting me into bed.
Were we going to be able to cope?
On My Way
I discovered that while it hadn't been all that easy to find my way into
a hospital bed it was actually quite difficult to get out of it.
In order to be discharged:
We were told the transport would pick me up at 11am on the Thursday and P arrived to take home the wheelchair, raised toilet seat and walking frame. We packed up my stuff. We gave the sister some chocolates for the staff. We sat and waited. I overheard the sister ask if my high-strength painkiller had actually been ordered from pharmacy. This was followed by a rather discouraging silence.
"Can you ask them to do it urgently?"
"Think it will be 1 o'clock when they pick you up, these things happen with transport," said a nurse to us.
At 1.30pm P felt he needed to go.
Finally at 3.15 two wonderful people in green appeared and loaded me onto a trolley. I waved goodbye to everyone and I was off.
Back home.
Back to P and J.
Back to normal life.
Except it wasn't.
In order to be discharged:
- the consultant had to say it was ok
- the physios had to say it was ok
- I had to have all the correct equipment in place at home
- my take-home drugs had to be ordered from pharmacy
- an ambulance had to be arranged to get me home
We were told the transport would pick me up at 11am on the Thursday and P arrived to take home the wheelchair, raised toilet seat and walking frame. We packed up my stuff. We gave the sister some chocolates for the staff. We sat and waited. I overheard the sister ask if my high-strength painkiller had actually been ordered from pharmacy. This was followed by a rather discouraging silence.
"Can you ask them to do it urgently?"
"Think it will be 1 o'clock when they pick you up, these things happen with transport," said a nurse to us.
At 1.30pm P felt he needed to go.
Finally at 3.15 two wonderful people in green appeared and loaded me onto a trolley. I waved goodbye to everyone and I was off.
Back home.
Back to P and J.
Back to normal life.
Except it wasn't.
I Want To Go Home
"WAKE UP. IT'S ALL OVER!"
There's nothing to operations really, all you do is lie on a trolley and someone else does it all. Well the bit after the operation can be perhaps not quite so easy.
"It all went very well," said the nurse beside me.
I surveyed the massive edifice of white plaster that my leg had become. A problem was immediately apparent:
"The bottom of the plaster is rubbing against my ankle."
"Oh yes, they need to trim that."
"That plaster is far too big" said the consultant the next morning to the doctor whose proud creation it was "lovely and smooth but too big and it's rubbing on her ankle. We'll get a new one done for you on Monday."
Monday???
Yes, the plaster room didn't deal with in-patients at the week-end.
The ankle-rubbing plaster made for a miserable week-end - as well as the pain of the knee I had the totally unnecessary pain of the ankle. This could only be relieved by propping my foot in exactly the right position.As soon as I fell asleep it would then fall out of exactly the right position and it was either buzzing a nurse to try and re-arrange it or just bearing it for a while. When a nurse found me almost in tears at 5 am on the Sunday and got me some toast and jam as well as some extra pain-killers it felt like one of the kindest things anyone had ever done for me. She managed to track down a doctor who gave her permission to trim the plaster but she couldn't find anything she could use to trim it.
Finally on Monday it happened - the plaster taken off, revealing a knee that looked a bit like a stitched up roll of meat and a nice smaller one (though still very heavy) put on, mercifully clear of my ankle.
Apart from a few crises - several involving low blood-pressure, the one where the physios got me into a chair then went off and left me and I nearly fainted, the 'can't get the cannula in' one, the 'cannula's stopped working' one and the 'if this cannula isn't working can't some one please take it out' one - everything went well. The staff were all lovely for which I was very thankful. Our pastors and another couple of friends came in and prayed with me. When I was feeling a bit low one morning the chaplain appeared in my room and held my hand while I had a cry.
Getting me out of bed was a complicated procedure involving leaning on a giant walking-frame and pivotting on my other foot and then sinking into the wheelchair, the leg being held by someone throughout. This began to get a bit difficult as whenever I buzzed for someone to help me to the bathroom I had to explain all over again exactly how to do it and I could see that supporting the weight of the leg was hard for them. Although they tried hard they didn't always support it in the right way and sometimes it hurt. I just wanted P to do it, he was used to caring for me, he understood my body, I wanted him to come and live there with me. When I needed the loo I started hanging on until visiting time when he could help me - sometimes this would be for 4 or 5 hours (yes I realise this wasn't a good idea).
Really I just wanted to go home.
There's nothing to operations really, all you do is lie on a trolley and someone else does it all. Well the bit after the operation can be perhaps not quite so easy.
"It all went very well," said the nurse beside me.
I surveyed the massive edifice of white plaster that my leg had become. A problem was immediately apparent:
"The bottom of the plaster is rubbing against my ankle."
"Oh yes, they need to trim that."
"That plaster is far too big" said the consultant the next morning to the doctor whose proud creation it was "lovely and smooth but too big and it's rubbing on her ankle. We'll get a new one done for you on Monday."
Monday???
Yes, the plaster room didn't deal with in-patients at the week-end.
The ankle-rubbing plaster made for a miserable week-end - as well as the pain of the knee I had the totally unnecessary pain of the ankle. This could only be relieved by propping my foot in exactly the right position.As soon as I fell asleep it would then fall out of exactly the right position and it was either buzzing a nurse to try and re-arrange it or just bearing it for a while. When a nurse found me almost in tears at 5 am on the Sunday and got me some toast and jam as well as some extra pain-killers it felt like one of the kindest things anyone had ever done for me. She managed to track down a doctor who gave her permission to trim the plaster but she couldn't find anything she could use to trim it.
Finally on Monday it happened - the plaster taken off, revealing a knee that looked a bit like a stitched up roll of meat and a nice smaller one (though still very heavy) put on, mercifully clear of my ankle.
Apart from a few crises - several involving low blood-pressure, the one where the physios got me into a chair then went off and left me and I nearly fainted, the 'can't get the cannula in' one, the 'cannula's stopped working' one and the 'if this cannula isn't working can't some one please take it out' one - everything went well. The staff were all lovely for which I was very thankful. Our pastors and another couple of friends came in and prayed with me. When I was feeling a bit low one morning the chaplain appeared in my room and held my hand while I had a cry.
Getting me out of bed was a complicated procedure involving leaning on a giant walking-frame and pivotting on my other foot and then sinking into the wheelchair, the leg being held by someone throughout. This began to get a bit difficult as whenever I buzzed for someone to help me to the bathroom I had to explain all over again exactly how to do it and I could see that supporting the weight of the leg was hard for them. Although they tried hard they didn't always support it in the right way and sometimes it hurt. I just wanted P to do it, he was used to caring for me, he understood my body, I wanted him to come and live there with me. When I needed the loo I started hanging on until visiting time when he could help me - sometimes this would be for 4 or 5 hours (yes I realise this wasn't a good idea).
Really I just wanted to go home.
A comfortable bed
Two days before the accident we'd gone to Faith Camp (a large Christian
camp run by Kingdom Faith Ministries) for the day. I'd found the
teaching very powerful and had also attended the 'Healing School'
seminar. This led me to start re-reading an old book called 'Your
Healing Is Within You' by Jim Glennon (Hodder and Stoughton Ltd 1978
UK). I had brought this into hospital with me together with a book I'd
bought at Faith Camp called 'Power Thoughts' by Joyce Meyer (Hodder
Stoughton 2011 UK). Both these books have themes of praising God and
trusting Him whatever the circumstances.
Early the next morning a nurse came and helped me wash. Others came and told me that my husband and Dad had phoned. Apart from that I just lay on my trolley all morning, reading my books, praying for the other patients as they nervously went off for their operations and telling God I trusted Him and praised Him whatever was going to happen. I really think it was all the people praying for me that helped me to stay calm.
I was however still feeling very shocked and shaky and hungry.
Just before lunch-time a team of doctors materialised in front of me.
"Oh there you are, found you at last" said the consultant "we're going to operate to wire the pieces of bone together but we can't do it today - we'll do it tomorrow morning."
"Does that mean I can eat and drink?"
I had a turkey salad, the meat didn't look much like turkey, or even like meat really, but the salad was ok.
Then I was whisked away to an orthopaedic ward and a bed. 12 hours after the accident and I was in a snuggly-wuggly comfy bed. By coincidence someone we knew from our previous church was sitting visiting her mother in the same bay. The nurse assigned to me was lovely and I don't think I've ever seen anyone work so hard - I didn't see her stop moving at any time.
A couple of hours later I was told I was off to another orthopaedic ward and waved goodbye to my friend and 'nice nurse'.
On the new ward I had the luxury of a room of my own and for a small fee (well P said it wasn't really all that small) I had my own phone, TV, a selection of films and internet access. The internet was a bit hard to use - after 3 jabs it would open the email under the one I wanted so I gave up on it in the end but it was great to be able to chat on the phone with family and friends. There was also a bed whose head and foot could be moved independently at the touch of a button. I never did quite get the hang of it and ended up in some rather strange positions.
In th end the operation took place on the Friday afternoon - two days after the accident. P and J had come in to visit and waved me off. I think it must have been the power of prayer keeping me so calm as I was wheeled off - I was really hardly nervous at all. The theatre staff chatted to me a bit then told me to imagine I was somewhere nice as they injected something into my arm:
"Where are you thinking of?"
"A beach."
"Where's the beach?"
"Brittany."
"What are you doing?"
"Paddling..."
That had been a wonderful holiday in Brittany ...
Early the next morning a nurse came and helped me wash. Others came and told me that my husband and Dad had phoned. Apart from that I just lay on my trolley all morning, reading my books, praying for the other patients as they nervously went off for their operations and telling God I trusted Him and praised Him whatever was going to happen. I really think it was all the people praying for me that helped me to stay calm.
I was however still feeling very shocked and shaky and hungry.
Just before lunch-time a team of doctors materialised in front of me.
"Oh there you are, found you at last" said the consultant "we're going to operate to wire the pieces of bone together but we can't do it today - we'll do it tomorrow morning."
"Does that mean I can eat and drink?"
I had a turkey salad, the meat didn't look much like turkey, or even like meat really, but the salad was ok.
Then I was whisked away to an orthopaedic ward and a bed. 12 hours after the accident and I was in a snuggly-wuggly comfy bed. By coincidence someone we knew from our previous church was sitting visiting her mother in the same bay. The nurse assigned to me was lovely and I don't think I've ever seen anyone work so hard - I didn't see her stop moving at any time.
A couple of hours later I was told I was off to another orthopaedic ward and waved goodbye to my friend and 'nice nurse'.
On the new ward I had the luxury of a room of my own and for a small fee (well P said it wasn't really all that small) I had my own phone, TV, a selection of films and internet access. The internet was a bit hard to use - after 3 jabs it would open the email under the one I wanted so I gave up on it in the end but it was great to be able to chat on the phone with family and friends. There was also a bed whose head and foot could be moved independently at the touch of a button. I never did quite get the hang of it and ended up in some rather strange positions.
In th end the operation took place on the Friday afternoon - two days after the accident. P and J had come in to visit and waved me off. I think it must have been the power of prayer keeping me so calm as I was wheeled off - I was really hardly nervous at all. The theatre staff chatted to me a bit then told me to imagine I was somewhere nice as they injected something into my arm:
"Where are you thinking of?"
"A beach."
"Where's the beach?"
"Brittany."
"What are you doing?"
"Paddling..."
That had been a wonderful holiday in Brittany ...
A long day
First I screamed and then I knew I was going to die. The pain exploding
through my body was more than I could bear. I didn't know what had
happened but it was something really bad. Everything went black in
front of my eyes. I felt my head falling backwards.
"Breathe. Breathe normally. Breathe."
P's voice seemed to come from a long way away. I forced myself to take a breath.
"Try and wiggle your toes for me."
I wiggled.
"Now you're hyper-ventilating, breathe normally and try to stop crying."
I tried.
"Get a pillow and put it under her head," P was saying to J "now support her ankle while I straighten her leg."
It occurred to me that I wasn't dead. It also occurred to me that marrying a trained First-Aider had been quite a good idea.
Somehow P and J lifted me into the wheelchair and with the leg straightened, bandaged and supported the pain was just about bearable.
"There's a dent in your knee-cap, we're going to have to go to hospital."
I tried to process what he'd said - a dent in my knee-cap?
He dialled 999.
"I think my wife's fractured her patella ... patella ... you know... her knee-cap."
I sighed.
J left his lunch on the table and went to wait on the main road to make sure the ambulance didn't miss our drive.
P and I sat in the kitchen and waited. 'We need prayer.' I thought. If people were praying for us then we would make it through this. We sent a few texts then prayed with each other. Then we waited. I contemplated the fact that my legs were soon to be scrutinised by strangers:
"Could you just get my shaver from the bathroom?"
"What?"
After an hour two paramedics arrived. The older one looked at my balloon shaped knee:
"You're going to hospital."
"Oh good, I'm going to be able to give my first morphine injection," said the younger one, a trainee.
The older one phoned for an ambulance and told them it was an emergency. Then we all sat in our kitchen and waited for two more hours which seemed a bit of a waste of their time really but apparently it's the rules - they had to stay with me until I was handed over at the hospital. I breathed in lots of gas-and-air which certainly brought back memories.
Finally I was carried out on a stretcher through our French doors , which was a bit scary - I thought I might fall off - and on my way. The first part of being in A & E went remarkably quickly - painkillers, brief chat with a nurse, x-ray...
"Hmm, I've seen quite alot of knee x-rays but I've never actually seen one quite this bad" said the nurse reassuringly "look there's 1,2,3,4 pieces and possibly something going on down here as well. I think they might want to keep you in."
They would put it in a temporary plaster they said, to make it more comfortable. A doctor appeared with a syringe.
"We need to reduce the swelling first by withdrawing the blood."
Whacking great needle, stuck in my knee, clanking against the broken bones...me muttering about the possibility of gas-and-air, the doctor ignoring me. This is what they call being 'more comfortable'?
Two ladies appeared with a large bucket and slapped plaster over my leg which felt quite warm and soothing. They were going to operate in the morning, nothing to eat after 3 am but we could go and see if we could find a sandwich as I hadn't eaten since breakfast, then come back and they'd put me on a trolley. It was just after 8 pm the shops and cafes were shut but eventually we found a vending machine down a dingy corridor. Never had a ham roll tasted so good.
Back to the waiting room - and sitting in the wheelchair for 3 hours. No sign of a trolley. I was still shaking from the shock and my neck was in desperate need of support. P asked if there was a cushion available and they gave him a sheet - not quite the same. Eventually he went and pleaded with the receptionist - his wife had M.E., she'd been sitting on a wheelchair with a broken knee for 11 hours, was there not a trolley somehere in the hospital she could lie on? After a short while we were told I could spend the night on a trolley in the 'Day-Stay Ward' which seemed a bit of a contradiction in terms really. I was wheeled into a dark, nearly empty ward and transferrred to a trolley which had sheets and blankets on it. I lay back in relief. A nurse appeared with a whole booklet of questions for me to answer so I could be 'admitted'.
Finally she finished and despite the discomfort of the cast I slipped into sleep.
"Breathe. Breathe normally. Breathe."
P's voice seemed to come from a long way away. I forced myself to take a breath.
"Try and wiggle your toes for me."
I wiggled.
"Now you're hyper-ventilating, breathe normally and try to stop crying."
I tried.
"Get a pillow and put it under her head," P was saying to J "now support her ankle while I straighten her leg."
It occurred to me that I wasn't dead. It also occurred to me that marrying a trained First-Aider had been quite a good idea.
Somehow P and J lifted me into the wheelchair and with the leg straightened, bandaged and supported the pain was just about bearable.
"There's a dent in your knee-cap, we're going to have to go to hospital."
I tried to process what he'd said - a dent in my knee-cap?
He dialled 999.
"I think my wife's fractured her patella ... patella ... you know... her knee-cap."
I sighed.
J left his lunch on the table and went to wait on the main road to make sure the ambulance didn't miss our drive.
P and I sat in the kitchen and waited. 'We need prayer.' I thought. If people were praying for us then we would make it through this. We sent a few texts then prayed with each other. Then we waited. I contemplated the fact that my legs were soon to be scrutinised by strangers:
"Could you just get my shaver from the bathroom?"
"What?"
After an hour two paramedics arrived. The older one looked at my balloon shaped knee:
"You're going to hospital."
"Oh good, I'm going to be able to give my first morphine injection," said the younger one, a trainee.
The older one phoned for an ambulance and told them it was an emergency. Then we all sat in our kitchen and waited for two more hours which seemed a bit of a waste of their time really but apparently it's the rules - they had to stay with me until I was handed over at the hospital. I breathed in lots of gas-and-air which certainly brought back memories.
Finally I was carried out on a stretcher through our French doors , which was a bit scary - I thought I might fall off - and on my way. The first part of being in A & E went remarkably quickly - painkillers, brief chat with a nurse, x-ray...
"Hmm, I've seen quite alot of knee x-rays but I've never actually seen one quite this bad" said the nurse reassuringly "look there's 1,2,3,4 pieces and possibly something going on down here as well. I think they might want to keep you in."
They would put it in a temporary plaster they said, to make it more comfortable. A doctor appeared with a syringe.
"We need to reduce the swelling first by withdrawing the blood."
Whacking great needle, stuck in my knee, clanking against the broken bones...me muttering about the possibility of gas-and-air, the doctor ignoring me. This is what they call being 'more comfortable'?
Two ladies appeared with a large bucket and slapped plaster over my leg which felt quite warm and soothing. They were going to operate in the morning, nothing to eat after 3 am but we could go and see if we could find a sandwich as I hadn't eaten since breakfast, then come back and they'd put me on a trolley. It was just after 8 pm the shops and cafes were shut but eventually we found a vending machine down a dingy corridor. Never had a ham roll tasted so good.
Back to the waiting room - and sitting in the wheelchair for 3 hours. No sign of a trolley. I was still shaking from the shock and my neck was in desperate need of support. P asked if there was a cushion available and they gave him a sheet - not quite the same. Eventually he went and pleaded with the receptionist - his wife had M.E., she'd been sitting on a wheelchair with a broken knee for 11 hours, was there not a trolley somehere in the hospital she could lie on? After a short while we were told I could spend the night on a trolley in the 'Day-Stay Ward' which seemed a bit of a contradiction in terms really. I was wheeled into a dark, nearly empty ward and transferrred to a trolley which had sheets and blankets on it. I lay back in relief. A nurse appeared with a whole booklet of questions for me to answer so I could be 'admitted'.
Finally she finished and despite the discomfort of the cast I slipped into sleep.
Bad slipper-boots
On Wednesday July 29th as a result of a freak accident, my right leg, normally rather inconspicuous and ordinary looking, although a bit on the dysfunctional side, turnd into the leg.
As in:
"Help me support the leg while I try to straighten it."
"Do you need some gas and air while we put the leg in a splint?"
"The surgery on the leg went very well."
"Just see if you can manage to swing the leg over the side of the bed."
"Think we need to change the plaster on the leg."
"No weight bearing on the leg for 6 weeks."
"Don't drop the leg!!!"
On that fateful day I had been with P to coffee morning at our previous church and had a good time although the weather had been a bit colder than I expected. We returned home, I scooted to our dining area, walked into our bedroom to change my shoes and there on the floor were my slipper-boots looking all snug and cosy. What was also on the floor by my bedside-cabinet was an innocent-looking fabric shopping bag. Where it all went wrong was that as I slipped one of my feet into a slipper-boot it must have caught in the handle of the bag and I unknowingly trailed the bag across the room.
I closed the door. The bag jammed behind it. The bag handle tightened round my ankle. I felt something yank my foot from under me.
I knew I was going to fall and I knew that there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.
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