I will apologise in advance – this may make no sense on account of the painkillers. I may end up deleting this post at a later date, but right now, it seems fine. Love those painkillers.
So, it finally happened – after one false start where I was gowned, tagged, stockinged and ready to go only to be ditched at the last-minute, the Ankle of Doom has been sliced, diced, cleaned up and repaired. I was ok (ish) until I said goodbye to Husband and limped into the anaesthetic room before going under. There, in the sterile environment, arse on show to the world courtesy of the gown that covered nothing worth mentioning, the Fear pounced on me and dug its claws in. I’m not sure I’ve said “I’m really scared” out loud before but oh boy was I scared. I’m a bit of a control freak – I’ve admitted it and nothing is more like handing over control that being put under general anaesthetic. They were fabulous though – one minute I was sobbing and the next? Nothing. No counting back from 3, just nothing until I vaguely remember moving on a bed and being back in my room.
What came next wasn’t great but it’s done. The nurses, doctors and all the team looking after me were fabulous. In the middle of the night when I was dying for a pee but off my face on painkillers the nurse on duty was nothing but lovely. We bonded over a shared love of Harry Potter and the scariness of being in pain. The physio who waited and waited and waited for me to stop feeling so sick so she could show me how to use the stairs never failed to smile and make me feel at ease. The nurse who discharged me with a bazillion drugs, injections, letters and a sharps bin was equally lovely. I cried. A lot. It’s a response to pain and fear and feeling so bloody ill but also relief.
Relief at finally having both an end and a start point. I’ve been waiting for the end point since I fell, an end to the discomfort and inconvenience of crutches and the boot. An end to the dodgy ankle that I’ve been battering about for the last 25 years. But also a beginning – starting to heal, to recover from the physical incision and reconstruction of the damaged ligament. Starting new physiotherapy to rebuild muscle strength and physical ability to walk again with 2 feet and zero crutches. Starting to be able to walk on the beach, go for a run, sit cross-legged, to turn over in bed without waking in pain – all good, positive things to start again.
For now, I’m on doctors orders to do bugger all other than wiggle my toes and keep all weight off the recovering ankle. For once, I’m actually listening to said orders and doing everything I should be, including no showers (ugh), no going up and down stairs and pain killers every 4-6 hours. The surgeon’s professional healing regime was sold as: tea, toast, TV and toilet with a caveat of tap-dancing. Thankfully the tap dancing was a reference to the wiggling of toes to improve circulation but the rest of it, I’m following to the letter. As I type, I have Netflix on, I’m in bed with the cat next to me and I’ve finished my tea. Thank GOD for Netflix. And online shopping.
So, one week almost down, 1 week plus a little bit to go. Might have a little nap.