Photo by Spsmiler, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons

Dear Readers, my broken leg (not to mention my twisted ankle) are the gifts that just keep giving, and I’m only being mildly sarcastic. This past few months have taught me so much about myself, about what it’s like to be mobility-impaired (even temporarily, hopefully) and about living with pain. So here, for what it’s worth, are a couple of things that I’ve noticed.

Firstly, those priority seats in the Underground have been positioned where they are for a reason – they’re close to a handrail so you can ease yourself down and stand yourself back up. Just because the train is half-empty doesn’t mean that someone with a crutch/walking stick can just edge along the moving train to one of the other seats. Or, they can, but if they end up sitting on you by mistake it’s hardly their fault. And thanks so much to everyone (and there were many, many people) who positively bounded up when they saw me get on so I could sit in the priority seat. Also, I do know that many disabilities are invisible, so I’ve tried not to judge when a fit-looking young person is sitting in a priority seat and elderly ladies with walking sticks are standing. Though I might have harrumphed silently occasionally.

Secondly, judging how much pain is acceptable when walking on a combination of a recovering broken leg and a bruised and twisted ankle is a tricky thing. My physiotherapist suggests that I should stop if the pain is greater than a 6 or 7 out of 10. This is a bit difficult if you’re halfway to somewhere, but still. And also, everyone judges pain differently, and I suspect that while the pain of an abscessed tooth is up there close to 10, and bashing my elbow is a 4 fading quickly to a 1, it’s not easy to judge all the possibilities in the middle. I do think, though, that there’s a difference between the dull ache of a leg that’s healing and the sharp pain of a ligament complaining – the first tells me to pay attention but to keep going, while the second definitely calls for an ice pack.

And thirdly, there’s the whole question of risk. We’re meant to be off to Italy for a few days shortly, and I’m extremely nervous – what if I fall over again? What if I can’t manage? But then, if I don’t try, I won’t know. I can always rest up if my leg plays up too much. And since my last fall was walking along the corridor here at home, there’s no saying that not going will prevent a fall from happening – in fact I’m hyperaware when I’m out and about, so I take much more care. Plus, I don’t want my world to shrink too much through sheer fear. Onwards and (hopefully) upwards! The world awaits, and I am prepared to hobble off into it, albeit at half my usual speed. I have joined the ranks of the slow but steady, and I know that I’m in excellent company.