Well Readers, it’s been an interesting couple of days. When I left you last, I was in the Whittington Hospital waiting for an operation on my leg. I’ve never been in a hospital overnight, I’ve never had a general anaesthetic and I’ve certainly never had a titanium rod inserted into tibia, so there’s been a lot to process.
First up, I cannot praise the hospital staff, from the handsome orthopaedic consultant to the cheery porters, highly enough. The Whittington is like the United Nations, there’s someone from everywhere, and many people have been there for years – the staff nurse had been working at the hospital for nearly two decades. They worked together so well – in the X-Ray section there was an A team of young women in hijabs who were expert at placing limbs and manipulating an x-ray machine that hung from the ceiling and looked like something from Star Wars. My ward had two patients suffering from dementia, and the nurses and orderlies couldn’t have been kinder or more patient and tactful. I honestly think we should all pay a chunk more tax to fund this astonishing institution. How lucky we all are.
The orthopaedic team were clearly very into bones – one of the more junior staff showed me my fracture when I asked, and very dramatic it was too. And when they had to use a bit of traction to get the bones to line up (probably the most painful 30 seconds I’ve had in my life) they were efficient and matter-of-fact, which is just what you need when you think your leg is going to come off.
And then there was the operation. I can’t tell you much about it, except that one minute I was mentally trying to calculate my height in centimetres to save the anaesthetist from having to look up Dr Google, and then next someone was shouting my name and telling me that it was all over. What a strange experience it is! I wonder if my body remembers all the drilling and pulling about, even if my brain hasn’t registered it. Anyhow, the result is the aforementioned titanium rod and a few bolts in the ankle to keep it in place, like a kind of reverse Frankenstein.
The immediate effect of the general anaesthetic though was to make me nauseous for about eight hours. A pair of jolly physiotherapists bounced in to see if they could get me used to my crutches and all I could say is ‘sorry, I’m going to chuck up now’ so they bounced out again. The photo at the top is the result of me trying to choose my lunch while in this state. I have ordered a salad with a side salad, a yoghurt, and a plate of custard with nothing in it. Go figure.
Actually, the food and the selection was pretty good, though I’m glad I was around too long to enjoy it.
And after a painful night I was discharged this morning (now I’m ‘crutch-trained’, which means I can use crutches to make sure that I only put fifty percent of my bodyweight on my right leg). I have to inject myself with an anti-coagulant daily for the next fortnight and I have a fine array of pain-killers. More importantly, I have lots of knitting to do, and a fine pile of books to read, plus my poor husband is at my beck and call for the next two weeks till he goes back to work. it’s not quite the holiday I was intending, but I plan to make the most of it.
However, I will probably also take a bit of time to be sad, and to let all that shock and disappointment catch up with me. I’ve just been putting one foot in front of the other (see what I did there :-)) but I am sorry about my Austria holiday, and I am still a bit rattled. It reminds me (as if I needed to be reminded) that things can change in a split second, and not always for the better. Still, I have been so moved by people’s kindness over the past few days, from Chantelle, the Station Master at East Finchley who looked after me until the ambulance men came, to the lovely Eritrean taxi driver who just brought us back from the hospital. It reminds me that however independent we think we are, we are all ultimately reliant on the kindness of strangers, even if it’s just to bring us a bedpan in the middle of the night.
Glad the operation is over and wishing you a speedy recovery.
What an experience! It is good to know you have been well looked after and I hope you will soon get used to the crutches to get out and about – even just to see the weeds on your pavement!
Yes, I am currently very weed-deprived, but the wheelchair arrived this afternoon so hopefully not for much longer!
Wishing you a rapid and strong recovery Bug Woman. Thank you for recognising the wonderful diversity in the NHS. In these harsh times when “othering” the most vulnerable is such a shameless trend amongst certain political forces, the people of the NHS, and indeed it’s patients, are a powerful reminder that we are all just human.
Absolutely. The NHS shows us that we are all just human, and we should be grateful for all the wonderful people who give their time and expertise to help us, wherever they’re from.
Blimey. Get well soon, and thanks for posting throughout. Totally agree re the NHS.
Having had 2 similar experiences one with my ankle and one my femur I sympathise with you deeply. So very painful. Thank heavens for our access to decent medical care, as you say worth more tax to ensure it remains our privilege! Eventually get a bone scan to check out your bone density..?
Absolutely re the bone scan, and also I’m going to pursue checking out why exactly I’ve had so many falls lately – hopefully it’s nothing, but worth checking.
Thank you for reminding us how amazing the NHS is…just wish you’d not had to find out this way! Hope the pain allows you to rest and feel better soon.
I love this glimpse into the NHS. The food looks much better than what we get here in the US. So fresh and healthy. And it’s so nice they let you stay overnight. Here, that you’d be discharged as soon as you came around from the anesthetic.
Can I recommend a book? Have you read The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating? Perhaps I’ve mentioned it before; I’m always going on about it. It’s the story of a suddenly bedridden woman who ends up with a terrarium beside her bed with a wild woodland snail (Neohelix albolabris). So beautifully written.
And if not that, perhaps The Summer Book, by Tove Jansson. Another favorite of mine. Will make you laugh, but also it’s so evocative of summer.
I really like the sound of the snail book, thank you! And a re-read of The Summer Book might well find its way onto the list…
What a few days you’ve had & so wonderfully expressed in this piece!! Thank you SO much for your support for the hospital, staff, & the NHS. I’ve worked in the NHS & have cause to be very grateful to it as a patient too. Be patient & gentle with yourself x🕊
I’m so glad it all went smoothly. I hope you’re husband can rustle up a wiener schnizel followed by some apfelstrudel to make up for what you’re missing on holiday. 🤔
Hah! I love him but I think pizza and salad will be more realistic. To be fair, even I would think twice before tackling strudel pastry 🙂
Sorry to hear about your fall, I hope you make a quick recovery.
I tweeted a comment to you when I thought you would likely be in Austria soon but it’s a bit of research that will keep until such time as you visit again. Meanwhile here’s the link for everybody as well https://movementecologyjournal.biomedcentral.com/articles/10.1186/s40462-024-00449-x#Sec13
Alterations in weather patterns due to climate change are accelerated in alpine environments, but mountains also provide a wide range of niches and potential refuge areas. In order to identify future critical habitat for mountain ungulates for effective protection, it is important to understand their spatial responses to changing weather conditions without movement constraints by human disturbance. Chamois reacted to increasing precipitation and wind speeds primarily by moving to lower elevations in summer and winter.
However, reactions to high summer temperatures predominantly involved preferences for increasing tree cover density and northerly slopes. Snow depth had little effect on habitat choice, and southerly slopes were preferred in winter regardless of temperature. At night, chamois moved to steeper slopes and lower elevations than during daytime in both seasons, and to more open areas in summer. Steeper slopes were also preferred with increasing tree cover density.
Conclusions
Chamois employ adaptive fine-scale adjustments in their habitat choice consistent with respect to efficient thermoregulation and protection from both weather extremes and predation risk in summer and winter. Movement responses to climate change are therefore expected to be far more complex than simple altitudinal changes in distribution. Particularly the role of forest cover must not be underestimated, as it appears to provide important thermal refuge habitat from high summer temperatures.
Thanks for this, Liz! It’s interesting how different plants and animals are adapting to weather conditions…
I had my three month visit with my surgeon last week. He was pleased with my progress which did little to assuage my impatience, nor did the news that I will likely not be myself for another six months or so. Having had Polio as a child I am quite used to crutches but until now I could usually get by with one, allowing me to walk to the car with a cup of coffee…. the change is indeed somewhat demoralizing.
Yes, stairs are unforgiving and one easily goes from being stable to being airborne in a moment, which is unnerving. It is also miraculous that an hour in the OR can result in mended bones and a new hip, and that staff are so warm and generous in such challenging circumstances.
Anyway, you have written beautifully about your journey to date, and I am glad to have been able to follow your adventure from a distance. I am in awe that you have written every day, more or less, when I managed only a few posts.
Here’s hoping you mend quickly and well.
Ah, sorry to hear this Michael, so frustrating, though as you say when the staff are caring it’s lovely, especially as they so often have a wicked sense of humour! Wishing you speedy healing as well, and sharing your aggravation with having to use two crutches. I’d never appreciated how much ‘stuff’ I move about in the house from one room to another, and now my poor husband has to do it all. Sigh.