So, since life is becoming quiet, Christmas is in two weeks, everything is up to date and I’ve come to terms with the reality of the situation I’m now in. And since I know for a fact someone is reading this blog, (hello Tom Brand).
I’ve decided to try to explain what actually happened to me two months ago, as I’ve already said it happened on the 26th September. A day that wasn’t exactly special, apart from the fact I was busy at work and I was heading home, because it was dark I decided to change buses, because I hate walking past Botwell Common late at night. During the day it’s a dog walker’s paradise but at night it’s unnerving, and in total honesty I was feeling lazy. So what I remember was getting off the bus, turning to put my Kindle back in my bag…then I was lying flat on the pavement, my bag in one direction and my glasses off my face.
In that split second between the horizontal and the vertical, I have no memory, which I later learned in pretty common due to the sudden trauma! So for a second I was just lying there whilst the driver of the A10 just drove off, and I’m prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt that he just didn’t see me, because it’s bad form in life to generally drive away, from a woman who was potentially unconscious smack down on the pavement…ok I wasn’t unconscious, but you get the gist of this.
I remember laying there; thinking “What the hell just happened?”, and then I tried to get up, I looked down and just saw my right foot still in my trainer (for the record I wear trainers to and from work, and change into my boots when he get there) and it just looked totally askew.
As two guys at the bus stop opposite had seen me lying there and came over…now all I can remember about these gentlemen is that they were working at the Sony Company, one of them was from Switzerland and they were both heading back to Heathrow. They were fantastic, even running back to Sony to get me a blanket and drink, sadly I cannot remember their names but if they are ever going to read this…then thank you.
By this point I had decided to call an ambulance, and what I remember is this, it was a surreal conversation as I was using my work voice. Truth be told, in my job I run the switchboard for the entire office, and I take calls from all around the world and my real voice is a South West London/Liverpudlian hybrid, so when I’m very drunk I sound like Ringo Starr…or Wakko Warner, depending on who’s listening! Also I have a tendency to drop locations beginning with “H”, for example “I live in ‘ayes, next to ‘illingdon, and work at ‘eathrow”. Translation, “I live in Hayes, next to Hillingdon and work at Heathrow”. Maybe because I had only left the office an hour before, because I was still using the fake voice, which sounds like the love child of Jessica Rabbit and Julie Andrews!
I explained that “I thought my ankle was broken”, which sounds strange, because it was totally bent and very obvious, but for some reason I was resistant to the fact laid out literally in front of me. The ambulance took six minutes to arrive and in that time, all I could do was look at it, and smoke a cigarette since at the time it didn’t hurt, just felt numb. When the ambulance got to me, the two paramedics gave me a shot of morphine…which is lovely stuff that slowed everything down, and gas and air. And of course the accident had happened, when I was wearing my best work trousers, sorry now my ex-work trousers.
To get me in the ambulance, they had to inflate a bag around my foot, until I was finally in, and as they did so…my mum called, as I had resisted the urge to speak to her, until that moment. It was now 10:30pm and she was getting worried, which was the reason I hadn’t called her. Maybe because I am the youngest of four but I have always been known as the “placid child”, not that I’m a doormat, but because I’m more laid back than the others.
So I finally explained what happened, and did stress, that I was alright…and totally medicated. As I got to Hillingdon Hospital, the place where I was born in and had worked in several years earlier, and credit to them I was in X-Ray in less than twenty minutes. Now at this point, my expectation was that I would be plastered, and go home, when I was eight, I had broken the same foot…though I really don’t remember how I broke it, it doesn’t alter the fact it was on Remembrance Sunday and as a Brownie, I had to march on the damn thing. But I was out of that cast by Christmas, though ever since that day it’s caused some pain especially in winter, but when you do something that young, you never question it.
Then I was told that it needed to be operated on, and that would be either tomorrow… or in a few days, I was expecting tomorrow, since they decided to make me nil-by-mouth at that moment, and needed to half plaster it. Until that moment, I had been pretty Zen, about the whole thing, needing to stay calm was my coping mechanism, until those words made me freak out and I began crying for my mum.
I’ve worked in Hospitals, I watch the show 24 hours in A & E, and I know the sounds a bone makes as its being re-set. Thankfully they were going to knock me out for this, and as the needle was going into me I remember saying “Do you want me to count down from ten?”…and I was out instantly.
When I finally woke up, it was past midnight, my mum, elder sister K and my eldest nephew were there, and I had an oxygen tube hooked around my nose and ears, looking down I now had a heavy plaster half-cast stretching all the way to my thigh so I couldn’t bend my leg, and facing up to the reality that I needed surgery. The hour that I was with my family, we talked about the usual stuff trying to avoid the massive issue in the room, until I pretty much told them to go. Now mum had the foresight to bring my night-clothes with her…it doesn’t change the fact that it was 3:30 am, before I went upstairs and in those hours by myself I was either trying to sleep, feeling zoned out from the drugs and trying to get my head around the fact I was going to have surgery the next day.
As I was taken up to Kennedy Ward, now I know that it was stupid o’clock in the morning, out and I understand nurses are busy, but until I woke up the next day I was still clad in the clothes I was wearing at the time it happened, my call button was broken and I had to get myself changed. Which is not a whine, but it was bloody difficult to do. Also for anyone who’s ever been to Hillingdon Hospital, the place is filthy, the MRSA levels in the hospital are shocking and I was currently stuck there. Still expecting to have surgery in the morning, I wasn’t that bothered at the time…until the next morning the Consultant told me matter-of-fact that I would be there for at least a week, so the swelling could go down!
So I’m currently stuck in Hospital, pretty much pinned to a bed and am about to have my sanity tested, but I’ll let you know about that later.