With local Tier 3 Covid restrictions still in place, December started quietly for us, and continued in the same vein, so that 3 weeks into the month I was beginning to wonder what on Earth I could write about in this blog. But then fate stepped in unexpectedly and changed all that.
On Christmas Eve, while shuffling into the bathroom using my walking frame, to perform my usual morning ablutions, my left leg suddenly gave way and down I went like the proverbial sack of potatoes. My head hit the tiled floor with quite a bang but not so hard that I blacked out. Doreen heard the crash and came running, and helped me reach a sitting position so I could breathe. Taking stock, I had a large lump on my head, and I’d done something to my left foot/ankle (again!) which were painful and beginning to swell up.
Once on the floor, I can’t get up without help, even using the home hoist, so Doreen had to call 111. An ambulance was soon despatched, and it arrived very quickly. I expected to see two burly ambulance men who would grab me under the armpits and heave me up into my wheelchair. Instead, two slim young women paramedics appeared. But I needn’t have worried; they were absolutely wonderful. They gently manoeuvred me onto an inflatable cushion, connected it to a small compressor, and slowly lifted me to a level where the home hoist could take over.
After further physical examination, I was strongly advised to go to A&E, so it was soon into the ambulance and off to hospital. Doreen had to stay at home as she wouldn’t be allowed into A&E. Once there, the system kicked in, checking blood pressure, temperature, ECG, etc. Then it was off for an X-ray of my ankle, and then for a CT scan of my head injury. Fortunately, there was no serious damage to my head but my ankle was ‘broken’.
The disabilities caused by my MND did present a few problems. My ankle was X-rayed while I stayed on the trolley, but for the CT scan, I had to be transferred to the bench integral to the scanner. Extra staff were drafted in to manhandle my 16-stone dead weight. I was there just for a head scan but I was surprised when someone grabbed me tightly around the ankles to help heave me over – ouch! Presumably nobody had told the CT team I also had an ankle injury!!
Once the fractured ankle was diagnosed, an orthopaedic boot was fitted, and I was sent home by ambulance, but I was back 4 days later for the Fracture Clinic. It appears my ankle bones are cracked but not seriously broken, so 5-6 weeks in ‘the boot’ and I should be fine. Meanwhile, all transfers now need the hoist, so more work for poor Doreen. Realistically, my walking days are probably over, so using the hoist all the time is the new ‘norm’.
For those amused by last month’s story of our son, Adam’s, attempt to bleed his central heating radiators, there is a sequel! I’d asked him, a week or two later, if he’d found the missing bleed screw, or bought a new one. The answer was ‘neither’. Chris, his flatmate, whose bedroom radiator it was, was warm enough without it so sourcing a replacement bleed valve was low priority. A few days later, Chris was woken at 5.30am by what sounded like rain on his bedroom window. But as he woke further, he realised the water was on the inside, jetting from the bleed screw hole in the radiator! He quickly stuck his finger over the hole, shouted for Adam to come and help, and together, they stemmed the flow. A new bleed valve was bought and fitted later that day.
‘A stitch in time……’?