Welcome back dear reader! I hope August has been good for you, or at least bearable, depending on how lockdown is affecting you.
When you left me I was hopping about on one leg and relying on my long-suffering friend and PA to push me around on wheels and generally look after me as I was incapacitated.
On 14 August I made the momentous journey to the hospital to have my recovery assessed. I had to use hospital transport, which meant I had to be ready two hours before my appointment time.
So, there I was, up, dressed and breakfasted by 7 am. They telephoned me at 8 am to say they were ten minutes away and then duly turned up at 8.10. They had to put me in a wheelchair and roll me out to the ambulance where I sat in state with the wheelchair clamped to the floor of the vehicle.
When we arrived at the hospital I was transferred into another wheelchair and handed over to the clinic staff. I had to wear a mask, of course, which made me feel like a highwayman, but it seemed a small price to pay to keep us all safe.
I didn’t have long to wait before I was wheeled down to X-ray and I hardly had to wait any time at all to be collected and wheeled back into the doctor’s room. In fact, I felt that everything ran more smoothly than it often does when there isn’t a pandemic.
The doctor informed me that the fracture hadn’t completely healed but that there was so much metal holding my bones together that it would be safe to start putting weight on it.
Yes, I was given permission to walk again!
In no time at all, the transport people had whisked me home again and I had started my new life of independence.
Because the pain had diminished while I wasn’t putting weight on my leg, I thought I would now just get up and start dashing about as usual, or, well, moving reasonably normally, anyway.
I should have known better.
First I was very wobbly, and then the pain and stiffness kicked in. Clearly, this getting-back-to-normal business is going to take longer than I expected.
Even so, I can’t begin to tell you just how exciting it is to be able to go to the bathroom independently! My bed has been moved back upstairs and I have finally “taken back control” (that’s a Brexiteer phrase for those outside the UK) of my domestic arrangements. I can’t water the garden yet, but I can get out into the sunshine on my own two feet. It’s wonderful!
So life is slowly getting back to something like normal, or what counts as the new normal, anyway. Most of my meetings still have to be via the Internet but I shall at least be attending church again in person.
None of us quite know what the next few months will be like but I am at least facing them in an upright position and I’m just thankful for that.