Remember that old cartoon show about the medical crew and their spaceship that were shrunk to microscopic size every episode, to travel through a patient's body, mending things? (Or did I dream that? It sounds too weird, but I think it was called Fantastic Voyage or something).
Well, I feel a bit like that – as if my world has shrunk – or at least, as if I've shrunk within it. My bike used to take me all over the place. No destination was too far for me and the Bomber, but now just about all of my adventures take place within my suburban block in one of Canberra's less salubrious suburbs. Little things have become huge. Sure, I go to work and back every day, courtesy of some lovely people from my workplace, and there's the occasional outing with the Ancient Submariner, who is probably the kindest, most thoughtful man I have ever met. Most of my adventures these days, though, are those little domestic events that are too trivial to think about in the normal scheme of things.
Last weekend it was changing the sheets and hanging out the washing – like, WOW! Has my world shrunk so much that I actually find that “an adventure”? I don't know whether to laugh or cry. I'll probably do both. Right now I'm flatter than the Bomber's battery; flatter than Posh Spice without a push-up bra; flatter than a cat who's wandered onto a main road in peak hour. You get the idea.
Speaking of the Bomber's flat battery... Suzuki must've had a Ducati designer on board when they created the SV650. Fair dinkum. On my other bikes it was a simple matter of turning the key to remove the seat, and voila! There was the battery. Not so on the SV - to get to the battery you have to remove a couple of fairing panels and then unbolt the seat.
So I put on my Can-Do hat and hobbled out to the bike shed. I'm still on the crutches, but have started putting a little weight on the broken foot. It makes life so much easier, which is just as well, because hooking up the battery charger ended up needing about 14 trips back and forth from the shed to the spare room where the tool cupboard lives, to find socket wrenches and hex keys. And the hammer. And the WD-40. That bike has been screwed together so tightly that even my newfound uber-muscles couldn't undo the bolts that hold the seat on. Just as well I had the hammer though – it came in handy to squash the fat juicy redback spider that had taken up residence next to the Bomber.
The Ancient Submariner arrived just as I got the final bolt out and lifted the seat. It was a million degrees in the shed and I was about to drown in a pool of my own perspiration, surrounded by hex keys and squashed spiders. My quad muscles were screaming from crouching at an unnatural angle in my moonboot to get at the bolts, and my wrists ached from fighting with the bolts – yeah, I was looking hot. To AS's credit he didn't run away screaming. In fact, he finished the delicate operation of hooking the charger up to the battery and bolting the seat and one of the fairing panels back on. When the battery has recharged I can handle the last of the fairing panels. I can handle anything!
So – the Bomber's battery is more or less easily fixed. Recharging my own battery is less simple, but I have a looong list of domestic adventures awaiting me today - vacuuming, scrubbing the shower, and my favourite - hobbling out into the garden and getting a bit of nature therapy. Armed with my little spray bottle of poison, those weeds that have taken advantage of my current incapacitation don't stand a chance. Don't mess with Betty!
Showing posts with label crutches. Show all posts
Showing posts with label crutches. Show all posts
Sunday, 1 March 2009
Sunday, 22 February 2009
Unco Betty gets Co!
Everyone who knows me (and a lot of people who don't) know that I'm unco – it's been a fact of life since I was expelled from kindy-gym at the local church when I was about 3. I couldn't do bunny hops over one of those balance beam things. Yes, embarrassing but true, and it set the scene for things to come.
Since then I've fallen off things, tripped up things, slipped on things and been bamboozled by things – dancing, swimming, aerobics. I was always the leftover who was grudgingly taken last onto a tunnel-ball or softball team during PE class. I didn't even get to earn the label 'wallflower' at school dances – I used to hide in the dunnies until the band went on a break!
I ripped my leg open on the frayed end of the Tarzan swing – a huge steel cable in the bush near where we lived - as I tried to fly gracefully from it, aged 8. I dangled from a cliff with my head in an ants' nest during an abseilling stuff-up, aged 14. My first “solo” (as opposed to tandem) skydive ended badly when I fell over on landing and nearly dislocated my shoulder, aged 30-something.
It took me hundreds of attempts to learn to drive, and millions to learn to ride. Sometimes I still fall off.
Over the years I've had to learn to laugh at my unco-ness, so as to get in first. Better that I laugh at me before everybody else does.
So I'm not sure what I'm going to do now that these weeks on crutches have honed my balance and coordination to a state approaching “normal”. Five weeks of dodging power cords, homicidal cats and “stuff” on the floor; five weeks of negotiating stairs, (both up AND down); five bloody bloody weeks of attempting household chores on one leg...
Today I achieved a level of coordination hitherto only dreamed of by my notoriously clumsy self - and officially dropped the “Un” from “Unco”. It wasn't easy – but I did it. Success is sweeeeet!
The thing is, I really really needed to change the sheets and wasn't prepared to wait for yet another week. I've had enough of the piles of stuff on the doona – books, clothes, crutches, potato chip crumbs, telephones, “stuff” that I need at hand - not to mention the cat hair on the doona cover.
So – I removed the piles of stuff, removed the sheets – then thought “What the heck!” - on a roll, I removed the woollen underblanket and mattress protector. I even turned the mattress (yes I did! Queen sized mattress, if you please, all by myself, on one leg!) I got all the bedlinen to the laundry without incident. For each of four loads of washing I negotiated my way, with the laundry basket full of clean wet stuff, down the back steps (4 of them) and along the garden path. I hung all that stuff out without dropping anything – and then a few hours later, did it all in reverse, with clean dry laundry. I did not trip, fall or wobble. I neither stumbled nor bumbled, and I'm feeling rather humbled! No – no I'm not – I'm smug! SMUG, I say! I'm so smug I'm about to explode with it! I'm sticking my rude finger up at unco-ness, muwahahahahahaha, and not walking into a pole or falling into a hole while I'm doing it! Look mum, no hands!!!
(...and now, in a very small voice...) I'm exhausted!
Since then I've fallen off things, tripped up things, slipped on things and been bamboozled by things – dancing, swimming, aerobics. I was always the leftover who was grudgingly taken last onto a tunnel-ball or softball team during PE class. I didn't even get to earn the label 'wallflower' at school dances – I used to hide in the dunnies until the band went on a break!
I ripped my leg open on the frayed end of the Tarzan swing – a huge steel cable in the bush near where we lived - as I tried to fly gracefully from it, aged 8. I dangled from a cliff with my head in an ants' nest during an abseilling stuff-up, aged 14. My first “solo” (as opposed to tandem) skydive ended badly when I fell over on landing and nearly dislocated my shoulder, aged 30-something.
It took me hundreds of attempts to learn to drive, and millions to learn to ride. Sometimes I still fall off.
Over the years I've had to learn to laugh at my unco-ness, so as to get in first. Better that I laugh at me before everybody else does.
So I'm not sure what I'm going to do now that these weeks on crutches have honed my balance and coordination to a state approaching “normal”. Five weeks of dodging power cords, homicidal cats and “stuff” on the floor; five weeks of negotiating stairs, (both up AND down); five bloody bloody weeks of attempting household chores on one leg...
Today I achieved a level of coordination hitherto only dreamed of by my notoriously clumsy self - and officially dropped the “Un” from “Unco”. It wasn't easy – but I did it. Success is sweeeeet!
The thing is, I really really needed to change the sheets and wasn't prepared to wait for yet another week. I've had enough of the piles of stuff on the doona – books, clothes, crutches, potato chip crumbs, telephones, “stuff” that I need at hand - not to mention the cat hair on the doona cover.
So – I removed the piles of stuff, removed the sheets – then thought “What the heck!” - on a roll, I removed the woollen underblanket and mattress protector. I even turned the mattress (yes I did! Queen sized mattress, if you please, all by myself, on one leg!) I got all the bedlinen to the laundry without incident. For each of four loads of washing I negotiated my way, with the laundry basket full of clean wet stuff, down the back steps (4 of them) and along the garden path. I hung all that stuff out without dropping anything – and then a few hours later, did it all in reverse, with clean dry laundry. I did not trip, fall or wobble. I neither stumbled nor bumbled, and I'm feeling rather humbled! No – no I'm not – I'm smug! SMUG, I say! I'm so smug I'm about to explode with it! I'm sticking my rude finger up at unco-ness, muwahahahahahaha, and not walking into a pole or falling into a hole while I'm doing it! Look mum, no hands!!!
(...and now, in a very small voice...) I'm exhausted!
Friday, 13 February 2009
A new adventure - shopping!
I started online shopping reluctantly several years ago, ordering hard-to-get books from Amazon. I progressed to a few small but excellent eBay purchases (the cost of the postage from the UK for my bike leathers was more than I paid for the leathers themselves!) and then bought the odd fado CD (fado not being hugely popular in this country, finding my fav fadistas in the local Music Shop isn't easy). More recently I've found some brilliant bargains on the Catch of the Day website – my favourite being the cases of rather good red wine that come up now and then (hic!)
I've never really taken to buying my groceries online, though – until now.
When I was a high school teacher I used to think there was something a bit therapeutic about wandering through a quiet, child-free, uncrowded supermarket late in the evening. All those lovely orderly rows of goodies, well-behaved and silent... Now that my bike is my only mode of transport, night-time grocery-shopping (particularly in winter) isn't the fun it used to be. And of course, doing it all on crutches and with NO means of transport – well, that's actually NEGATIVE fun! I attempted it a few weeks ago in 35 degree heat and had to be rescued by a man on a recumbent bicycle, who walked my heavy backpack up the hill for me while I sobbed uncontrollably. How embarrassing.
Last year when the wheelchair man fell on me and my hamstring snapped off my bum, I took advantage of online grocery shopping in a very small way. Just as well really, or I would've starved to death, as I was pretty much housebound for almost a month. I didn't really get into the spirit of it though - perhaps I was in too much pain – or perhaps I was spending all my food money on stuff like MRIs and surgeons' appointments.
And of course, my lovely daughter drove me shopping occasionally in her held-together-with-duct-tape deathtrap of a car, making a point of smirking at me (she's evil like that, bless her!) She had visions of a long-distant future and was unable to resist the line “Hmmm.... and so it begins...” as I hobbled like a 90 year-old to the car and took 10 painful minutes to manoeuvre myself into it. Hag.
During this current period of incapacitation, though, I have embraced Woolies' online grocery shopping like a long lost friend. In fact – I'm becoming obsessed!
Each week my orders become bigger and better. After yesterday's delivery I am a bit nonplussed. What on earth possessed me to buy 3 litres of grapefruit juice? When oh when will I use up 3 slabs of silken tofu before its use-by date? As for the 10 litres of soda water, entire kilo of chicken breast fillets, four jars of coffee and three dozen tins of diced tomatoes (ok, I exaggerate – it was only 1 dozen)...
Next time I shop I will do it before I open a bottle of that excellent aforementioned red wine from the Catch of the Day mob!
There are some things I will only buy in very small quantities, to tide me over, say, till I'm able to go to the Asian specialty shop for the really good Jasmine Rice I love so much. And I haven't quite been able to trust a stranger to test my melons or select my salad leaves...
I just make a shopping list and key in my details, and some kind mystery shopper actually does the shopping for me, bags everything up, and a nice young red-headed fellow drives it to my house in his refrigerated truck, during the 2-hour “delivery time-slot” that I have specified, puts it all on my kitchen bench and lets me pay with my EFTPOS card – and the cost of this very convenient service is a mere $13!
It's magic. AND – (but wait, there's more!) they give me little pressies; freebie samples of things – it's fabulous! So far I have stockpiled 5 little tubes of toothpaste that will be perfect when I can finally head off somewhere on the bike again; several of those faddish tubes of instant coffee, and a few packs of dog biscuits. (The fact that I don't have a dog is irrelevant – the boys next door do!)
Oh dear – my name is Betty and I'm a shopaholic...
I've never really taken to buying my groceries online, though – until now.
When I was a high school teacher I used to think there was something a bit therapeutic about wandering through a quiet, child-free, uncrowded supermarket late in the evening. All those lovely orderly rows of goodies, well-behaved and silent... Now that my bike is my only mode of transport, night-time grocery-shopping (particularly in winter) isn't the fun it used to be. And of course, doing it all on crutches and with NO means of transport – well, that's actually NEGATIVE fun! I attempted it a few weeks ago in 35 degree heat and had to be rescued by a man on a recumbent bicycle, who walked my heavy backpack up the hill for me while I sobbed uncontrollably. How embarrassing.
Last year when the wheelchair man fell on me and my hamstring snapped off my bum, I took advantage of online grocery shopping in a very small way. Just as well really, or I would've starved to death, as I was pretty much housebound for almost a month. I didn't really get into the spirit of it though - perhaps I was in too much pain – or perhaps I was spending all my food money on stuff like MRIs and surgeons' appointments.
And of course, my lovely daughter drove me shopping occasionally in her held-together-with-duct-tape deathtrap of a car, making a point of smirking at me (she's evil like that, bless her!) She had visions of a long-distant future and was unable to resist the line “Hmmm.... and so it begins...” as I hobbled like a 90 year-old to the car and took 10 painful minutes to manoeuvre myself into it. Hag.
During this current period of incapacitation, though, I have embraced Woolies' online grocery shopping like a long lost friend. In fact – I'm becoming obsessed!
Each week my orders become bigger and better. After yesterday's delivery I am a bit nonplussed. What on earth possessed me to buy 3 litres of grapefruit juice? When oh when will I use up 3 slabs of silken tofu before its use-by date? As for the 10 litres of soda water, entire kilo of chicken breast fillets, four jars of coffee and three dozen tins of diced tomatoes (ok, I exaggerate – it was only 1 dozen)...
Next time I shop I will do it before I open a bottle of that excellent aforementioned red wine from the Catch of the Day mob!
There are some things I will only buy in very small quantities, to tide me over, say, till I'm able to go to the Asian specialty shop for the really good Jasmine Rice I love so much. And I haven't quite been able to trust a stranger to test my melons or select my salad leaves...
I just make a shopping list and key in my details, and some kind mystery shopper actually does the shopping for me, bags everything up, and a nice young red-headed fellow drives it to my house in his refrigerated truck, during the 2-hour “delivery time-slot” that I have specified, puts it all on my kitchen bench and lets me pay with my EFTPOS card – and the cost of this very convenient service is a mere $13!
It's magic. AND – (but wait, there's more!) they give me little pressies; freebie samples of things – it's fabulous! So far I have stockpiled 5 little tubes of toothpaste that will be perfect when I can finally head off somewhere on the bike again; several of those faddish tubes of instant coffee, and a few packs of dog biscuits. (The fact that I don't have a dog is irrelevant – the boys next door do!)
Oh dear – my name is Betty and I'm a shopaholic...
Sunday, 8 February 2009
Another tale of life on crutches - beating the heat
Oh, I am SO OVER THIS HEATWAVE!
It's true. Heat can drive a person insane. I'm living proof.
There is no escape from it. It just IS - like a wall of something inescapable - or a cocoon - or a bloody bloody SHROUD - heavy, energy-sapping, HOT and EVER PRESENT. It's made me cry more than once as I've sat here in front of a bloody fan that only blows hot bloody air at me. One of my panic-triggers, since the attack in 06, is feeling trapped - and this heat has me on the edge of tears and the brink of panic constantly.
I've told myself not to be such a wuss. It hasn't helped. I just got cranky with myself for being so hard on me, and didn't talk to myself for at least half an hour. Then I got lonely. The cats are no company in this weather. They're trying to kill me. They sprawl in doorways, trying desperately to get a breath of cooler air, and refuse to let me past. When I hop over the top of Oscar bin Laden he waves his paws at me and yowls in a mean way.
I am a woman on the edge, I tell you, BECAUSE I CAN'T COOL DOWN!
I've done all the standard things, right? Closed windows, shutters, curtains and blinds. I am living in airless darkness and the house is practically hermetically sealed to keep the heat out. It's a whole 5 degrees cooler in here than it is in that furnace outside. Not good enough.
The pathetic back-slab cast on my ankle, and the compression stocking and bandage mean that my foot is probably a million degrees hotter than the rest of me - and that doesn't help my mood. Surely such heat can fuse broken bone? If I leave it on for another 5 minutes will my fracture be healed? Can I throw away those stupid crutches? Can't I take that bloody cast OFF?
Well, I can. To have a shower or a bath. Then it goes back on again. All up, the entire operation takes about 5-8 minutes of sweat-inducing contortion that isn't worth the toll on my fragile mental state.
SO - this afternoon my heat-addled self rebelled. I ran myself a cool bath and manoeuvred myself into it, with the wrapped and damaged foot dangling over the side of the bath. BLISS! I took my "nose-bag" with me - it's a cloth shopping bag that I hang around my neck at home to carry stuff in - mobile phone, bottle of water, cup full of ice-cubes, clean clothes, paperback, crossword book, camera...
...And it was the coolest, most pleasant half hour of the entire day!
And then I had to get out.
Bugger.
Tricky.
Dammit, I worked up yet another sweat manoeuvring myself out of the damn bath. There is no escape from this relentless heat!!!
Thank goodness for the Christmas pressie my mate Jude gave me - ostensibly to cool me down at work whenever the hot flushes turn me bright red. It works just as well when I'm sitting on my bed with the fan aimed squarely at me, trying to beat the heatwave.
Damn you, heatwave *whimper* I will not melt!
It's true. Heat can drive a person insane. I'm living proof.
There is no escape from it. It just IS - like a wall of something inescapable - or a cocoon - or a bloody bloody SHROUD - heavy, energy-sapping, HOT and EVER PRESENT. It's made me cry more than once as I've sat here in front of a bloody fan that only blows hot bloody air at me. One of my panic-triggers, since the attack in 06, is feeling trapped - and this heat has me on the edge of tears and the brink of panic constantly.
I've told myself not to be such a wuss. It hasn't helped. I just got cranky with myself for being so hard on me, and didn't talk to myself for at least half an hour. Then I got lonely. The cats are no company in this weather. They're trying to kill me. They sprawl in doorways, trying desperately to get a breath of cooler air, and refuse to let me past. When I hop over the top of Oscar bin Laden he waves his paws at me and yowls in a mean way.
I am a woman on the edge, I tell you, BECAUSE I CAN'T COOL DOWN!
I've done all the standard things, right? Closed windows, shutters, curtains and blinds. I am living in airless darkness and the house is practically hermetically sealed to keep the heat out. It's a whole 5 degrees cooler in here than it is in that furnace outside. Not good enough.
The pathetic back-slab cast on my ankle, and the compression stocking and bandage mean that my foot is probably a million degrees hotter than the rest of me - and that doesn't help my mood. Surely such heat can fuse broken bone? If I leave it on for another 5 minutes will my fracture be healed? Can I throw away those stupid crutches? Can't I take that bloody cast OFF?
Well, I can. To have a shower or a bath. Then it goes back on again. All up, the entire operation takes about 5-8 minutes of sweat-inducing contortion that isn't worth the toll on my fragile mental state.
SO - this afternoon my heat-addled self rebelled. I ran myself a cool bath and manoeuvred myself into it, with the wrapped and damaged foot dangling over the side of the bath. BLISS! I took my "nose-bag" with me - it's a cloth shopping bag that I hang around my neck at home to carry stuff in - mobile phone, bottle of water, cup full of ice-cubes, clean clothes, paperback, crossword book, camera...
...And it was the coolest, most pleasant half hour of the entire day!
And then I had to get out.
Bugger.
Tricky.
Dammit, I worked up yet another sweat manoeuvring myself out of the damn bath. There is no escape from this relentless heat!!!
Thank goodness for the Christmas pressie my mate Jude gave me - ostensibly to cool me down at work whenever the hot flushes turn me bright red. It works just as well when I'm sitting on my bed with the fan aimed squarely at me, trying to beat the heatwave.
Damn you, heatwave *whimper* I will not melt!
Tuesday, 27 January 2009
More random thoughts on crutches
Forearm crutches are more comfortable than underarm crutches. The technique required to drive them is a little different, though, and very unsettling at first.
Uphill on crutches with a full backpack is harder than downhill with an empty one.
My local shops are over 500 (I lost count) crutch hops from my gate.
Walking to the shops and back is a better workout than you'd get at any gym. Especially in 33-degree heat (that's 33 degrees Celsius...) which adds a sauna dimension to your workout.
Such a workout should only be attempted once, just to prove something to yourself (to prove what? That you're an idiot?)
Going to the loo on crutches at night is very difficult. Cats tend to sprawl on the floor and in doorways in the dark.
Cats make a very loud noise when you poke them with a crutch in the dead of night.
Cats are a death trap.
No matter how difficult it is to get around on crutches, crawling on hands and knees is worse for anybody over about 12 months of age. Baby knees crawl, grown up knees creak and bruise.
Stairs are a death trap.
If you're on crutches it probably means you aren't riding a motorbike around. Have that glass of wine with lunch! (just one – wine and crutches don't mix very well.)
Using crutches develops your brain. You find new and interesting ways to do things that have suddenly become impossible.
Bathrooms are a death-trap.
Gardening, far from being the therapeutic activity it once was, becomes an exercise in frustration. Multiple kinks in a 30 metre hose can induce apoplexy in a very short time. Weeds will always be just out of reach.
Everything – everything – takes ten times longer on crutches. The exception to this is the rate at which your bladder fills.
When you only wear one shoe and one sock you discover that a pair of socks lasts twice as long, but the same doesn't go for shoes.
If crutches can fall over and land in hard-to-reach places, they will.
The toilet is a death-trap.
Getting ice-cube trays full of water from the sink to the freezer gives new meaning to the expression aaaaaaargh!
Oh, one more – crutches aren't just for walking. They're also for opening/closing doors and gates, lifting dropped things, switching on lights that are several feet away, pulling things towards you, tripping people up, pushing things away from you, poking cats... the list goes on.
Amazing things, crutches.
Uphill on crutches with a full backpack is harder than downhill with an empty one.
My local shops are over 500 (I lost count) crutch hops from my gate.
Walking to the shops and back is a better workout than you'd get at any gym. Especially in 33-degree heat (that's 33 degrees Celsius...) which adds a sauna dimension to your workout.
Such a workout should only be attempted once, just to prove something to yourself (to prove what? That you're an idiot?)
Going to the loo on crutches at night is very difficult. Cats tend to sprawl on the floor and in doorways in the dark.
Cats make a very loud noise when you poke them with a crutch in the dead of night.
Cats are a death trap.
No matter how difficult it is to get around on crutches, crawling on hands and knees is worse for anybody over about 12 months of age. Baby knees crawl, grown up knees creak and bruise.
Stairs are a death trap.
If you're on crutches it probably means you aren't riding a motorbike around. Have that glass of wine with lunch! (just one – wine and crutches don't mix very well.)
Using crutches develops your brain. You find new and interesting ways to do things that have suddenly become impossible.
Bathrooms are a death-trap.
Gardening, far from being the therapeutic activity it once was, becomes an exercise in frustration. Multiple kinks in a 30 metre hose can induce apoplexy in a very short time. Weeds will always be just out of reach.
Everything – everything – takes ten times longer on crutches. The exception to this is the rate at which your bladder fills.
When you only wear one shoe and one sock you discover that a pair of socks lasts twice as long, but the same doesn't go for shoes.
If crutches can fall over and land in hard-to-reach places, they will.
The toilet is a death-trap.
Getting ice-cube trays full of water from the sink to the freezer gives new meaning to the expression aaaaaaargh!
Oh, one more – crutches aren't just for walking. They're also for opening/closing doors and gates, lifting dropped things, switching on lights that are several feet away, pulling things towards you, tripping people up, pushing things away from you, poking cats... the list goes on.
Amazing things, crutches.
Wednesday, 21 January 2009
Random thoughts on crutches
Things that do not "go" with crutches:
Clutter
Power-cords
Cats
Stairs
Narrow hallways
Baskets full of laundry that need to go on the line
Bags full of shopping that need to be carried
ME
Things you need to be if you are on crutches:
Early - start heading to the loo long before you feel the need!
Organised - do NOT under any circumstances leave your mobile phone anywhere but in your pocket.
Patient
Well-balanced
Coordinated (uh-oh...)
Things you need to have if you are going to be on crutches for any length of time:
A whopping great sense of humour
The patience of a saint
Armpits of steel
A chair by the stove/fridge, where you can sit and eat/drink. You're not carrying that plate of dinner/cup of coffee/glass of wine anywhere!
A bag you can hang around your neck, for carrying non-spill stuff around the house
An extra pair of hands
Things that might take you by surprise on crutches:
Slopes and hills and uneven paths that really didn't seem all that steep or uneven when you were on two legs
How far away everything is - the corner shop, the bus stop, the toilet...
Cats
When you reach down to ground level to pick something up, and then can't get up again with one leg.
How relieved you are that you live alone and noone can see you rolling around on the floor like a deranged beetle, trying to find a way to get up again with one leg.
OK, it's only been 4 hours. I'm new to this. I'm sure a resourceful person like me will find a way around just about everything. My "cast" isn't even really a proper cast, for goodness' sake - I can take it off to have a shower (YAY! That had been worrying me, I confess.) As it's so easily removed (as simple as unwinding a bandage)the temptation to take it off so I can hang out the washing/hobble to and from the shops etc is going to be a biggie, I can tell.
My willy willy incident on Monday caused an avulsion fracture, when one of the tendons in my foot started to tear away away from the bone, and took a piece of bone with it. It needs compression and immobilisation, to try and encourage that bit of bone to "glue" itself back on again. Hence the back slab cast and the crutches.
Here's something I hadn't thought about. I no longer have a "good" leg. I have a bad leg and a worse leg. The bad leg is now having to do the work that the worse leg used to do when it was the good leg. This is bad. Very bad.
I have a week off work to learn how to drive these crutches, before I have to sprint to the bus stop every day. And get on and off the bus and get my ticket and put it in the ticket machine and find a seat without falling over. All before 7am every day.
Oh goody.
Clutter
Power-cords
Cats
Stairs
Narrow hallways
Baskets full of laundry that need to go on the line
Bags full of shopping that need to be carried
ME
Things you need to be if you are on crutches:
Early - start heading to the loo long before you feel the need!
Organised - do NOT under any circumstances leave your mobile phone anywhere but in your pocket.
Patient
Well-balanced
Coordinated (uh-oh...)
Things you need to have if you are going to be on crutches for any length of time:
A whopping great sense of humour
The patience of a saint
Armpits of steel
A chair by the stove/fridge, where you can sit and eat/drink. You're not carrying that plate of dinner/cup of coffee/glass of wine anywhere!
A bag you can hang around your neck, for carrying non-spill stuff around the house
An extra pair of hands
Things that might take you by surprise on crutches:
Slopes and hills and uneven paths that really didn't seem all that steep or uneven when you were on two legs
How far away everything is - the corner shop, the bus stop, the toilet...
Cats
When you reach down to ground level to pick something up, and then can't get up again with one leg.
How relieved you are that you live alone and noone can see you rolling around on the floor like a deranged beetle, trying to find a way to get up again with one leg.
OK, it's only been 4 hours. I'm new to this. I'm sure a resourceful person like me will find a way around just about everything. My "cast" isn't even really a proper cast, for goodness' sake - I can take it off to have a shower (YAY! That had been worrying me, I confess.) As it's so easily removed (as simple as unwinding a bandage)the temptation to take it off so I can hang out the washing/hobble to and from the shops etc is going to be a biggie, I can tell.
My willy willy incident on Monday caused an avulsion fracture, when one of the tendons in my foot started to tear away away from the bone, and took a piece of bone with it. It needs compression and immobilisation, to try and encourage that bit of bone to "glue" itself back on again. Hence the back slab cast and the crutches.
Here's something I hadn't thought about. I no longer have a "good" leg. I have a bad leg and a worse leg. The bad leg is now having to do the work that the worse leg used to do when it was the good leg. This is bad. Very bad.
I have a week off work to learn how to drive these crutches, before I have to sprint to the bus stop every day. And get on and off the bus and get my ticket and put it in the ticket machine and find a seat without falling over. All before 7am every day.
Oh goody.
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