No Driving for 6 weeks…
Fog of anaesthetic was wearing off fast. swimming for the surface, mentally fighting the effects of the drugs I sought awareness.
Water was provided, a sip to ease my dry throat. I even managed to thank the surgeon as he left. Then then propped up, hands still attached to various tubes. My leg felt locked, secured, I assumed to ensure that I didn’t move it as I came around. Fully awake, Tigger was itching to go, porters were called to take myself and the previous patient back to our rooms. Catching a glimpse of her as she was wheeled away, clearly the operation was far harder on her than mine. 30 minutes later the nurses decided to wheel me up, before I made a hobble for it…
There, Rebecca was waiting for me, worry on her face soon replaced by exasperation… Having brought my own food in the form of oatcakes, I asked for them along with some water. A nurse popped in and out a few times, checking I was OK. Apparently, my heart beat dropped down to a level where they wondered if I’d become a tory.
The physiotherapist knocked and entered, after detaching my arms from the monitoring equipment she pulled back my bed sheet. Rebecca said my face was a picture at this point. My leg was encased in a brace. ¾ length and clearly meant to be worn for a while.
I’d been taught to use my crutches before the op to save time. Knowing that I was expecting to have either a piece trimmed away or my meniscus repaired. The two options having different recovery periods. For one the brace would been worn for a few days and the other, weeks… . The surgeon had repaired my knee, which meant no driving or paddle boarding for 6 weeks. Needing to keep me in for 4 hours to check that I was OK. A cup of tea was brought and then an oversight on my part. No shorts, so it was time to cut a leg off my jeans, fashion… !
Compared to when my back and knee had been bad in September this was far less of a nuisance, more a question of logistics…
Another nurse came in to discharge me, we soon worked out we had a mutual friend in Jasmine, who co owns and runs Daaku. Soon I was up on my feet, rucksack on my bag heading towards the car. As I was leaving the nurse wished Rebecca good luck.
This forced break means that I’m going to start looking at my using my education. Time to change careers for something a little more financially beneficial. Writing once again, and perhaps having the confidence to submit my work.
A quick thank you to my Doctor, Mr Mathews the surgeon and all the staff at the Royal Duchy Hospital. We often moan about the NHS, but in this case I couldn’t have been treated better. Thank you.