More dramatics about my left foot

The ‘clot’ thickened this week with my fracture fiasco but I think I’ve turned (hobbled around?) a corner and am coming out the other end, a new and improved version of myself. Probably.

• RIGHT, so I’m banging on about the boot again … sorry. What can I say? There is literally nothing else going on in my life right now except the boot which at this stage I’d love to kick to touch. It’s actually gas as I always thought I was a good patient. Hah! Turns out I’d just never broken my ankle. I’m shocking. But forget about sparing a thought for me – spare a thought for my family who deserve medals of bravery at this stage for putting up with me. 

• To be fair to me, though, I had a few days of pain that literally had me howling, the type of pain that’s up there with labour. Then, I took all the meds on offer and it was still tough going. And at least at the end of that, you got handed a lovely baby for all your efforts. All I was seeing this time was a throbbing, red, swollen-looking limb that resembled a boiled ham. 

• Anyway, a scheduled check-up led to an ultrasound which revealed I had developed blood clots. Just to keep things interesting. It wasn’t life threatening or anything, but there was talk of being kept in hospital overnight. When the doctor mentioned that I totally paniced. Nothing to do with my leg but more the fact that my only decent pyjamas has reindeer on them, that I don’t own a dressing gown and how would my husband know how to tie up the six-year-old’s hair for school. All very rational stuff. Thankfully, I was sent off home and the good news is that I’m on the way back, thanks to the power of modern medicine. And so say all of us. 

• One thing that was slightly disconcerting, though, was the number of people who thought my injury was wine-related. I obviously need to clean up my image a bit. As it turns out alcohol is not advised with my current medication and as I’m still slightly traumatised, I’m following doctors’ orders to the letter. Dry January has now become Dry February. Sure, I’m practically cured! Holier than thou etc. So there!

• My birthday was in the middle of it all. Obviously I’m not a baby (or a spring chicken for that matter) so I didn’t expect that much attention but I thought my husband’s gift of a voucher for a sports shop was ironic. Granted it was bought before my fall ... but still. I suppose I could always buy compression socks? 

• With my mobility and my mood now much improved I’m starting to see some of the positives in all of this. Every cloud and all the rest. First things first, it turns out that nothing really bad happens if you just do the very basic housekeeping (especially if you don’t wear your glasses so you can’t see the layer of dust and crumbs on everything). When I think of all the hours I’ve wasted over the years mopping and wiping, sorting etc! This could be life changing. Same goes for laundry: there is actually no need to put it away! Who knew? Just put everything into a communal pile, that grows daily, and get everyone to pick out their stuff as they need it. It’s a bit of a lucky dip but eventually you’ll come across that second sock or a knickers that belongs to you. Why did I not think of this sooner? Probably best to have the mound somewhere out of sight (not the kitchen table) … there’s no need to let standards slip completely. As for making beds? Life’s too short. It’s all good so long as you don’t eat anything off the floors and you don’t mind sticking to them. There might be a book in this … an alternative to Francis Brennan’s Homekeeper’s Diary?

• More seriously, though, I feel that I’m having my own delayed lockdown experience. I can’t really go anywhere on my own (not driving), I can’t really get stuck into any epic cleaning/tidying projects and there’s only so much TV and scrolling my brain can take. So slowing down meant I read my first book in ages. I’ve had Louise O’Neill’s Idol on my bedside table for months and I devoured it in two nights. A very good read. I switched off the radio and for the first time in yonks I listened to some of my favourite music. It’s only something small but it felt like a real treat! It always astounds me how a blast of a good tune can totally lift your mood. I also made phone calls to friends and sat at my mum’s kitchen table for proper chats without having to rush off. And finally my upper arm muscles are getting a little more toned from the crutches. Another week or two and I might even be able to pass myself off as a sea swimmer. Bingo wings, be gone!

• Joking aside, I do think this whole chapter is going to be a turning point in my life. I’ve had an experience of pain and immobility and it was awful but, and here’s the thing, it was brief. It’s not the case for everyone. I’ll admit that I didn’t cope too brilliantly at times with my temporary changed circumstances and I’ve now got serious respect for those that adapt better to what’s thrown at them. I sound like a dose, don’t I? 

• In case you think I’m gone totally cracked there were a few things making me a tiny bit angry this week alright – mainly everyone being on poor Paschal Donohoe’s case. I tuned out of the finer details (the ‘new’ me doesn’t like to get bogged down in negativity) but I say give the man a break Also, Enoch Burke? Now he’s a proper dose! And finally ... Dancing With the Stars. Does it really have to be so long? It would drain you, even from the couch. Actually it felt really cathartic to get that off my chest … I must be getting back to my old self!