It comes and goes.
As seasoned and dedicated readers of this blog will know, I had a bit of a messy crash on my bicycle on the 27th May of this year. I snapped the right femur just below the ball – of ball and socket fame – and smacked up my right clavicle. This has lead to a permanent metal addition to my right leg and temporary metal in the right shoulder. Call me Metal Mickey. The airport will be fun at Christmas. Previously I have bounced back quickly from my knocks, but this time…oh boy it is sloooow. And I’m frustrated. Really, massively frustrated.
The hip & the shoulder
I have just changed my physio as the nice guy I have now has resisted all my appeals to put together a plan. I want a PLAN. I need something to measure myself against so I have short, medium and long term goals. I need to know how I am progressing and I need to know what the consequences of shirking are. I will happily shirk my exercises etc if I am just dumped with a pile of print-outs from the Internet and a suggestion is made that I sort of try to maybe follow them. I require structure and joint participation.
I am very fortunate to have both a great surgeon and private healthcare – thank you Mrs S, it means alot – so getting the necessary physio and choosing when and where I’ll have the shoulder re-filleted are things I can have a say in.
No pressure on the new physio but I intend to get back on my shiny new bike and do more riding. I plan on walking without my “Well helllloooo, Sailor” roll. I’d like to take a few steps at jogging pace and I want to know I can swim and climb.
Not much really, just back to the old me.
On 27th May 2012 I crashed my bicycle all by myself resulting in a snapped femur, a rather badly broken collarbone and numerous scrapes etc. I was rapidly scooped off the road by an ambulance crew (there were 3 ambos in total, but that is a story for another day) and delivered to the John Radcliffe A+E which, rather fortuitously it happens, is a designated trauma Centre for SE England. I then had a 6 hour operation performed by the President of the British Trauma Society no less. Isn’t the NHS a great thing? Nye Bevin, you rocked. Net result; one shiny new Dynamic Hip Screw and a chunk of temporary metal in the shoulder. Only down side is that DHS isn’t titanium. Still, it was ALL FREE. Even the morphine. Now there is a drug I could happily develop an addiction too. Gosh, it didn’t hurt and I remember very little. Government supplied pharmaceutical grade heroin. What’s not to like about that? Overall I am a pretty happy customer.
Oh yeah, I was a shocking state when I left the hospital. I had a four-footed cane, had lost 3/4 stone, couldn’t even lift my leg up from the floor and could barely do anything for myself and was forced to be waited on hand and foot. Sounds cool but like international business travel it wears thin pretty quickly. I like to do things for myself. It’s a control thing. In the interests of completeness I also have pretty mild MS – doesn’t really bug me so I don’t count it. Nor should you.
Soooo, much physio (thank you BUPA – the NHS is not so hot on follow-up) etc and I am getting better. I still walk with a roll though it is getting slowly better. I am terrible at doing the exact exercises instead preferring to “do stuff” that works the muscles in question.
Yesterday was my best expression of that yet. I cycled an entire and very hilly 65 mile sportive w. no stopping, walking or any other form of wimping out. The words of a pretty hardcore friend kept running through my head. To whit: “Dry your eyes, Princess”. The last third was pretty heavy going as the most exercise I had done in the preceding time was a couple of short (12 mile) rides into Oxford from home. Zappi’s Gran (Medio in my case) Fondo was the event I took part in. Not only are the benefits physical but the mental rush upon completion and even now is pretty powerful. I want more. Gimme more. Indeed, it’s hands down better than morphine.
I reckon that more people would have better lives if they got up off their backsides and indulged in a little activity that pushed them. They’d be pleasantly surprise. How much taxpayers money is wasted on our wonderful NHS because some people don’t, in the words of my mate, “Dry your eyes, Princess” and push themselves just a tiny bit, once even?