Making Progress

I can get up and move about without pain if I am very careful. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and remembering to stand up in a single positive move with my back erect I will feel no pain. If I lean forward or put one foot in front of the other, I will feel a little stab in my back, like a teacher poking me to do better, reminding me to start again. It is a brave move as it is the first one after lying comfortably on my bed. I could stay in bed all day knowing that I won’t hurt but whether I like it or not I have to go to the toilet and so I stand and using only one crutch – I am trying to walk one foot after the other, rather than one foot and then the other, I walk to the sitting room door. This is the tricky bit as I have to make a left angle turn and if I turn too quickly I get a stab, I have to turn carefully letting the good hip go first, that is, the left leg takes the lead. I can even do a full circle turn as long as I lead with the left leg.
I am really good on the stairs now and go up one stair at a time both feet on the tread before moving forward. If I place one foot after the other, as I have done in a weak moment, a stab of pain stops me in my tracks and I go back to one step at a time. Patience, take it slowly and don’t hurry.
In the kitchen I can discard my crutch and walk free as long as I do it in slow motion. I can’t fill the kettle in the traditional way, kettle to tap and back to the work top, it’s too heavy. Instead I take a mug full of water and pour it into the kettle. Two mugfuls is enough to cover the element and boil enough water to make a cup of tea. Yes, I am independent, I can make a cup of tea and carry it in my left hand back to my bed, my right hand has the crutch. The crutch is always with me, literally, as a crutch.
I went for a walk outside. I got dressed in my boots and anorak, put on my gloves and with the support of my crutches I left the house. Sweet smell of fresh air, how I love you. The twitter of the evening birds as they sang their last song at dusk. The trees and glowering sky, the hard path under my feet.

‘You go on,’ I said to my daughter, ‘I’ll just mince along at my own pace.’

She hurried on with the dog and I savoured the great outdoors, I grew confident and walked one foot after the other feeling the natural rhythm of walking, not relying on the crutches but lifting them lightly so that I could walk freely. I got to the end of the path and whilst I didn’t want to go back indoors, I didn’t want to go too far and spoil my freedom by running out of energy. I turned, no pain, and walked back, once again not relying on the crutches until I got to the front door where obstacles lay ahead, ledges and steps, a change of surfaces. Back inside I put aside my crutches and sat on the side of the bed, remembering to stay upright, peeled off my boots pushing on the heels, no pain, and then slid my arms out of my anorak. A deep breath and I pulled my legs up together to swing them onto the bed. A stab of pain but I must not hesitate, I lie sideways on the bed like a beached whale until I get my breath back and then I can either shift a little and lie on my lovely comfortable bed or I can turn and in one determined move sit upright shifting back to the pillows piled against the headboard.

The Shower…
I’ve only had one shower since the accident and that was last Friday, lying in bed a lot makes you smelly and I wanted another one but didn’t like to ask, it is quite a lot of trouble getting me organised and last time we had to go down the road to a friend’s granny who had a downstairs shower. Believe me it was worth it, I savoured the moment as I stood under the water, the smell of soap and shampoo, the luxury of water washing over your whole body. And afterwards that lovely feeling of cleanliness.

‘Do you think that you could make it all the way upstairs to the shower in my room?’ asked my daughter.
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I think I can. I will do it slowly.’

I climbed the stairs and then turning climbed the next set of stairs to the top of the house, to the en suite with a shower. The cat lay in the curve of the stairs, big and fat, black and white, he watched as I slowly made my way towards him. I had a choice, to poke him with my crutch or circumnavigate a move I could make as long as he didn’t do any quick moves. He eyed me with wonder as I passed him and reached the bedroom.
The shower was easy and once again I enjoyed the luxury of a complete wash. It was slow but then I have got all the time in the world and the results are worth it. I am learning to savour the moment. That was Monday and today is Wednesday and I am going to treat myself and make it to the top of the house for another shower. The exercise is good for me apart from anything else.

I sit and watch as the house goes about its business and I see the work that goes into both providing for the family and keeping it ticking over. Meetings, daily toil, appointments, kids ferried here and there, the hum of the dishwasher, the rattle of the washing machine, clothes to be folded, meals prepared and dispensed, housework, animals to be fed, rubbish to be sorted and arguments to be resolved. But it works like a well oiled machine as they come and go. And now they have got me to cope with as well.

‘How are you granny?’
‘I’m fine thank you.’
‘Do you need anything?’

I grab the moment and ask if I can have a glass of water or could you pass me that crutch or would you mind making me a cup of tea. I am conscious of the difference between showing concern and me asking for too much. I am so pleased that I can get up and do a few things for myself, I feel like this presence in other people’s lives.

I went away for a day and a night to stay with my lovely friend Lanky and I was grateful for the change of scenery. I was like an invalid as she fussed over me getting in and out of the car, making sure that I was comfortable in her armchair and then that night I slept in her sitting room on a rather grand fold up bed called a ‘wide boy’. I worried about it being a bit low but I managed fine and once in bed it was very comfortable. I noticed that she had tidied my slippers away under the coffee table and I wouldn’t be able to reach them, my bags were where I wouldn’t be able to reach them but it was nothing compared with the kindness and generosity of her hospitality. I slept soundly until 7.30 the next morning when I wanted to get up to go to the toilet. I was not looking forward to the manoeuvre. I found the crutch and placed it an angle ready for use, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and with a huge effort I stood upright, pain stabbed my back and I grabbed the crutch knocking over the glass of water by my bed. I couldn’t bend to pick it up and I couldn’t get a cloth quickly enough to mop it up and how was I going to do that.
Toilet, I thought, and made my way to the door. I climbed the stairs and got to the bathroom, the toilet seat was down and it is a heavy wooden one. I stabbed at it with my crutch wedging the rubber end under it to lift it, I can’t bend and it is heavy. At last I sat gratefully on the toilet, the bliss of peeing and sitting. Wiping your bum is a precarious business, too much of an angle and the stab of pain is waiting, but you want to be clean. I take advantage of being in the bathroom and having access to the sink but as I lean in to turn the tap the stab says ‘stay straight.’

On the way home I cannot resist going in to TK Max with my friend, we park the car right outside the front doors in the disabled bay. I’ll be okay I won’t go far. I walk carefully in between the racks of clothes near the door and then get ambitious and get in the lift and go upstairs to homeware. I know it’s too much, I am beginning to ache, feel weak and I must get back to the car. I go back to the car and sit gratefully waiting for my friend. We were going to go for a coffee but I can’t do it. She takes me home and back at the house I go through the whole rigmarole of getting back onto my bed. My lovely bed. I lie propped up against the pillows and silently than God. The family seem pleased to see me.

Pain

I was packed and ready to go to Spain for six weeks. The car hire was booked, the apartment was booked, extra travel insurance was bought because of my age and the length of time I wanted to stay away, my bag was packed and I worried about whether or not I should rush out and buy a new coat more suitable than my old anorak, which is practical and warm. But a new coat would look better and if I chose carefully it would double up as smart and casual. I could pop in to TK Max and get a bargain.

It was a beautiful day and we went en famille down to the field to muck out horses, feed the chickens and generally tidy up. The field is in an area of outstanding natural

beauty and the view across the valley epitomises all that is quintessentially English. It was a perfect day.
‘I’ll tackle the Shepherds Hut,’ I said. There had been visitors staying to welcome in the new year. I stripped the bed and cleaned out the log burning stove and then I feather dusted the rounded interior and thought how much I enjoyed helping about the place. I collected the dirty linen and took it down to the car thinking that I must be careful on the wooden steps as they were slippy. I cleaned the little glass panes of glass in the double doors and rubbed at the stained glass windows inside. I shook out the rugs and took them outside to air in the sun. Back in the hut I swept the floor and thought that I must go and ask Becky if she had any polish so that I could polish the wooden floor. I stepped out of the hut and slipped on the top step. I went smack bang on my back down all four steps and landed at the bottom in excruciating pain. I knew that I had hurt myself badly and it was a few minutes before I could turn and on all fours I tried to stand up but the pain was severe. I cried out but nobody heard me.
I managed to get myself upright and walked down the path back to the stables and told Ross that I had fallen and hurt myself. He got me a chair and I sat for a while in the sun stunned by what had just happened. I made my way into the Tack Room and Ross made me a cup of tea, the warm liquid like a comfort blanket. But I was shivering and said that I would go and sit in the car. It hurt as I lowered myself into the seat and I sat in the silence but the pain was too much. I opened the door and asked Ross to take me home.
Back at the house I had to get him to help me out of the car and then carefully holding both my hands he lowered me onto the settee.
‘Tea or coffee?’
‘No thank you.’
‘Something to eat?’
‘No thanks.’
He poked his head around the door, ‘ a piece of toast?’
‘No, nothing.’
The pain stabbed me like a knife and I couldn’t get comfortable.
‘You sure that you are going to be alright I need to go back and get Spencer.’
‘Yes, I’m fine.’
But was I? I didn’t know what was bearable or what it could be, a really bad knock, that’s all.
My friend Lanky arrived at lunch time and said that I ought to go to the doctors but I couldn’t bear the thought of walking to the car, never mind getting in and out of it. In the end we settled on telephoning 111 a NHS helpline. They were patient and asked questions and during the conversation I moved and the pain made me cry, or was it the kindness of a stranger. She said that I should go to A and E. and so here I am in the Royal United Hospital in Bath.
Lanky helped me to the car, she helped me into a wheel chair and after a two hour wait in the waiting room she helped me onto a bed so that I could be examined. I was sent for an X ray and then seen by an orthopaedic doctor who told me that I had a broken lumber vertebrae. I could find some respite by lying on one side but was told that it would be painful for some time.
‘I’m supposed to be going to Spain tomorrow for six weeks,’ I told the doctor.
‘I’m afraid not,’ he said, ‘it could be be six weeks before you are walking without pain.’

All the time Lanky stayed by my side and whilst I urged her to go home and that I would be alright she insisted and I was grateful to her for sticking by me. We used the time to cancel my accommodation in Spain, cancel the hire car and cancel the flight.
The Ward…
It is calm and pleasant. I was transferred from the temporary bed to the softest, most comfortable bed that I have ever slept on.
‘Thank you so much,’ I said as they lowered me and adjusted the back rest. It was heaven.
My daughter had arrived and she fussed over me and helped me to get into my nightie.
‘I love being in hospital, ‘ she said, ‘when I broke my leg I was in for five days and it was bliss, meals were served and drinks brought to you. Everywhere is nice and clean and they fuss over you. I didn’t want to go home. Let me stay for the full week, I pleaded. I love being in hospital.’
‘Some people look forward to a holiday abroad and you look forward to a stay in hospital, something is wrong.’
‘Enjoy it Mum, they look after you, you’ll love it.’
We are woken at 6 am when one spotlight comes on prior to the nurse gently asking to take your blood pressure. Last night I was moved to another ward, the orthopaedic, it is much quieter, there are only five us in this small side ward and we are away from the nursing station and so hear nothing. I kept dropping off last night from eight o clock, the others were chatting and laughing but I couldn’t stay awake. Lanky had been to visit me and she helped me get onto a commode and wheeled me to the toilet where I was able to pee for the first time in the loo. What bliss. In the morning I had been helped on to the commode by my bed but after I had finished I felt faint and sick and when the nurse came to help me I literally fell back onto the bed. Such a small thing but to be able to pee in the toilet is heaven. I was able to wash myself as well. I am conscious of my smelly body. She brought me a new nightie, more an overlarge pale pink tee shirt but it is clean and I felt better. She is such a kind person. She is hugging her cancer and yet she didn’t hesitate to help get me into hospital and stayed with me whilst I was being processed.

The nursing staff are very kind and as you sit helpless in bed watching what they do it is amazing. They never stop going from one to the other all the time checking and rechecking the patients. The only thing they don’t do, unless you ask. I assume, is wash you or make your bed. I am going to reach a stage when I will die for a wash or for my bottom sheet to be shaken out.

I tried walking yesterday. A bright young physio came bouncing in wearing a navy polo shirt and navy shorts. A young woman who oozed good health and well being. First she tried me on the Zimmer frame and very quickly she said I could use crutches. I carefully eased first one foot and then the other but once again I was overcome with a sick feeling and faintness. Why does it happen. I had to make my way back to the bed and then lie down again whilst it passed. I had probably walked only five yards and back.

‘Keep trying, we need to make your muscles work.’

I was up again today. I was wheeled to the toilet and that was fine but then the nurse suggested I walk again with the crutches which I managed quite but once I sat down in the chair I was overcome with sickness, so much so I was sick. My cornflakes returned.
I crawled back into my bed and recovered, visited by different people all asking how I was. It has been decided that it is the codeine that is making me feel sick and so I shall stick with the paracetamol from now on.

It has been decided that I can go home as I am showing good progress with the crutches. I rang Becky to let her know and at a second phone call to let her know what time she said,
‘Spencer is singing, look down, look down, you’ll always be a slave,’ the slave song from Les Miserable.’ As they moved the furniture around to accommodate me in their sitting room.

The other women in the ward are lovely, Mavis, an older woman, from the Isle Of Wight was visiting her son when she was taken ill and ended up in here. Anne broke her leg on New Years Eve, she lives in Faulkland, Jackie, from Westbury has Rayners disease, it eats away at your toes and she has lost three on one foot, she also has a problem with her oesophagus, Carolyn suffers with a pain that no one can diagnose and so she waits and has investigations and waits. It is a mystery. The physiotherapists are lovely and they told me that three people, separate incidents, came in as a result of being bitten by cats. Apparently it can be nasty as they are highly infectious.
It is because of two nasty road accidents that we were moved into this ward, they needed to free up the emergency ward.
I shall miss the ladies, they are good company and we have become comfortable with each other.

I am now at Becky’s. She has put a bed in her sitting room and here I lie day in day out. I can get up and with the aid of my crutches I ease my legs forward trying to remember to remain in an upright position. If I turn or bend the pain shoots through me reminding me to stay focused and keep upright. Sometimes I set off with the wrong leg, and the pain stabs me like a teacher poking a child with a ruler. I can get up and down the stairs and when I first arrived the stair well was clear and as were the stairs but gradually coats and clothes gather and I have to flick them off my crutches. They must be fed up with me, a constant reminder of helplessness and need.
I’ve had lots of messages and phone calls from friends back in Dorset and I am touched by their concern.