Well that was an adventure. A slip that turned into a trip, and a bit of a fall. Resulting in one broken toe and one broken ankle. Six weeks before I could drive, six weeks of using a crutch when needed. Six weeks seemed like a lifetime. I’m a busy woman, with a list and a schedule. I didn’t have time to sit around for six weeks. But the hospital was clear, at least six weeks before you can drive and you have to be able to do an emergency stop.
For years I yearned as a child for a broken bone, to have half the school jostle to write something on the cast. To share horror stories with fellow broken bone allies of itches that could not be itched and how to bathe without getting the cast wet. Yet, despite some hairy moments climbing trees, careering downhill on home made sleds and getting stuck in a large pipe on a building site, the best thing I could ever do was break my little finger. With a netball, during PE at school and no one believed I had broken it. Have you ever tried buttoning a school blouse with one hand? Luckily a friend helped me get my jumper on and carried my PE kit home for me. One hospital visit later, one X-ray taken and one broken bone identified, I was discharged with my fingers strapped together. No need for a cast, they said, the other finger will act as a splint. The understanding of having hypermoblilty or ‘being double jointed’ was not even an afterthought and it meant that my smallest digit set crookedly as my bendy fingers were as much use strapped together as splints as strapping them to a piece of string.
So I was rather looking forward to finally ticking ‘having my leg in plaster’ off my ever evolving bucket list. And they gave me a moon boot. A great big clunky boot that held all the bone pieces together whilst my body healed. At least it was black and I could relive my rocker goth child look, although to be honest the only things I’ve worn are pyjama bottoms and a variety of t-shirts with different slogans such as ‘Morning Coffee and Murder Books’ or ‘Crows, Cats and Crones’. No plaster cast for me. No hunting down my favourite authors during a signing tour and asking them to sign my leg with a permanent marker.
But the worst thing, after the bruising and pain has long gone, is the loss of direction. The days and weeks have blurred into one, I’ve missed birthday outings and glorious bank holiday fun in the sun. Although I am not a natural car driver, (I cannot just jump in my little car and go off without a plan and route back) I have missed the freedom that my car gives me. Having to rely on family to ferry me about to appointments, not having the chance to just ‘pop out for a bit of shopping’ on my own or grabbing a coffee with a friend. It’s just all be a bit rubbish, but it has given me time to think and revise what I am writing, even if I haven’t been able to actually sit at my desk because the giant moon boot is too clunky and heavy to fit under it.
So, at some point in the future, if I ever have to write about broken bones and how much of an inconvenience it all its, I will be able to write it with a flourish of the pen and with some credibility. As long as it doesn’t have to describe what having a plaster cast is really like, I’ll just have to find someone who has broken a bone to tell me what it’s really like to have a cast put on!
