Pop! Goes The Kneecap!

After yesterday’s post complaining about my knee, I do feel slightly better having got medical confirmation that yes I did dislocate it and cor that is a lot of bruising…

A whole morning spent in A&E confirms that firstly, when your kneecap falls off, then yes, that is a full dislocation; secondly, grabbing your knee and cracking it back in as soon as it falls apart is indeed a good thing; and thirdly, the A&E services that the NHS provides are everything I would hope for from my GP (friendly, listen, treat me like a human and super efficient). I was in, seen, xrayed, rammed back together and stuck in a splint all in under 2 hours and sent off on my merry way with the addition of “better crutches” to help with wrist sprains around the house. The sheer volume of Velcro I have strapping various supports to my body now means that I crackle every time I move. Add this to the joint popping and I’m basically a one (wo)man band!

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My newly given mission was to head to the mobility shop to get a leg riser for my wheelchair. Armed with the make and model, I asked if they stocked anything. Apparently, what I requested was tartan paint and was assessed with the intake of breath generally attributed to those of the plumbing or car mechanic trades. And in true air sucking form, it did cost me. £132 lighter I emerged having hired a chair for a week which did have a leg riser. (Admittedly £100 of that I’d a deposit, but still.). So now I’m not just navigating with wheels, I also have a battering ram. A very sore and swollen battering ram.

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When we got back,  I called work and explained that new bits had fallen off and with the additional battering ram out the front I just can’t get around the classroom  (or manage the stairs, or drive). So that’s me grounded for the rest of the week. Or at the very least, using Google Classroom to the limits.

Just when I thought my day couldn’t actually get any weirder, we took the kids to their trampolining class and I was wheeling myself towards the bar (for lemonade Judgey McJudgerson ), when a terrifying child’s carer stops me in the leisure centre and asks if child can pray for me… ummm… I don’t want to upset child… that, and I’m a naive Englishwoman who assumes praying is going home and quietly talking to your diety in your own time and space, and that everyone else has the same personal space and eye contact agreement that was secretly declared when the London Underground was formed, so I say yes….. I promptly find myself with full laying on of hands praying from both of them in the middle of the leisure centre reception… with me desperately resisting the urge to wheel myself off shouting “for science!”.

How on earth are you meant to react to that??!

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#fiveminutefriday Jump! Because I’ve not learnt to be a grown up yet.

The premise is simple: We write for five minutes flat. All on the same prompt that is post on the Lisa Jo Barker’s site at 1 minute past midnight EST ever Friday. And we connect on Twitter with the hashtag #FiveMinuteFriday

No extreme editing; no worrying about perfect grammar, font, or punctuation.
Unscripted. Unedited. Real.

Go.

I am a walking disaster. Or at least that’s what I’m told. To put this in context, over the past 18 months I have slipped a disc, dislocated my pelvis, broken my elbow, and concussed myself two separate occasions. I’ve Lao managed to give myself a few chemical burns from various hair dye and removal products which weren’t quite as successful as hoped. So this along with a couple of black eyes and a fat lip and some other minor injuries sort of suggests that I ought to lay on the floor and stay still. Don’t move. Try not to get hurt again.

But I don’t. If I’m honest, I get off on doing stuff that’s a bit outlandish and a bit dangerous (a bit. Not mountain climbing, or base jumping… Although that does sound fun…). But roller skating does it for me. Riding a mountain bike down a really steep hill, although I’m not so keen at going up. Swimming in deep water and knowing I can’t reach the bottom. LSH says I am in no way allowed a longboard. But of course what he doesn’t know…

I long for the summer when I can roll down hills with the kids, and climb trees.

It turns out, I am in fact a ten year old trapped inside a 33 year old’s body. And this ten year old is getting her skates on and practicing her moves to try out as fresh meat in roller derby in 12 months. All I need now is a name. Because even fresh meat needs a name. Frankly my Facebook friends need to let their imagination run a little freer!

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If it looks like fun, yes, I’ll jump.

STOP

My daughter is a Happster! #imahappster

Beanpole is brilliant. I can’t hold the washing up to hang it with my stupid elbow fracture, so out she trundles with her newly washed clothes and pegs them on the line for me.

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No good deed goes unpunished, and this afternoon we are meeting some old friends who moved away and she misses hugely at soft play as they are briefly visiting 🙂

Breaking your arm sucks, but I’m doing it in style

I defy anyone to criticise an NHS where you can be a total tit, break your elbow roller skating, walk in to a hospital, see a doctor, be X-rayed, patched up and given an appointment with the orthopaedics team all within 2 hours. And without any charge.

I still don’t understand why so many Americans are against this system. It’s just common sense and it is everything that the “all men are born equal” thing is about. Whether you have a heart attack or fall over being an idiot, they’ll treat you. Whether you’re rich or poor, male, female, black, white or rainbow coloured, the staff will do their best. Yes, on occasions it goes wrong and people need to speak up when it does. But the overarching concept is there.

With that said, current treatment for broken elbows is painkillers and a sling. And the sling is already looking worse for wear. After all it is only a triangle of muslin. So this afternoon I single handedly (did you see what I did there?) set about putting together a slightly more robust, and a little more ‘me’ sling.

I’m hoping that they’ll stick my arm in a splint on Wednesday which will give me a bit more of a fighting chance to do normal stuff (if its a neoprene one, swim for a start), and get the kids out to do stuff.

Still, we have a whole week of LSH at home (woo hoo!). And who couldn’t be happy with a Dalmatian arm accessory?

I am Cruella da Ville, hospital edition!

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Not destined for starlight express – the downside of skating.

Some days my brain doesn’t quite remember the age of my body. At 5’10” it’s rather a long way to fall and when on roller skates and trying not to fall on TinyPants who has just whizzed through my legs and lost her balance it’s even harder!

In short, I fell on my arse. Or rather on my hand, then my arse. I pretty instantly knew something wasn’t right… Elbows shouldn’t feel like that. Perhaps removing the wedding ring might be an idea… I’m sure it’s just bruised but let’s just get it checked out…

So here I am sitting in A&E explaining to various medical staff that I’m here because I was prattling about on roller skates and fell over. Cue giggling about me having a mid-life crisis and a trip to X-ray…

Edit: turns out I’ve fractured my elbow and the future for me holds several weeks in a sling… I may have to raid the fabric drawer for something a bit more attractive than this hessian thing tho.

It was fun for the first hour…

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