The broken leg I believe is on the mend, or at least I think so. I have been given permission to put it down on the floor now and, once more, learn the art of walking normally. More or less. The bandages are all bulky underneath the foot so there isn’t a chance in hell I can actually put my foot down ‘properly’ without some wobbling.
The main issue is I seem to be unable to remember how to walk. Apparently it is possible to forget how to wal after only a brief period of time. Either that or it is the deeply rooted fear my leg is no longer strong enough to hold me which is causing me to lack confidence in my ability. I have discovered that when faced with some uneven ground I resort to hopping and, as for stairs, I am lost.
This morning I couldn’t get downstairs at all. It stood at the top looking down at them as though it was an attempt to descend into the Grand Canyon. I was told last time I visited the hospital I had to start moving about in a normal fashion, which means walking downstairs using only the crutches for balance. I have to admit, up until now, I have been sliding up and down the stairs on my bottom! But apparently learning to walk again is part of the normal recovery and so it must be attempted if I am ever to get this damn cast off my leg. I was warned that I should not, under any circumstances lead with my left foot when going downstairs.I was certain this would not be a problem. Right up the point when I actually attempted it.
I soon discovered it was more of a problem than I had anticipated because, apparently, I lead with my left foot. I never noticed. When I was faced with trying to persuade my right leg to go first I realised I have a natural left lead. It wouldn’t have been so bad if my Mum hadn’t stood at the bottom and howled hysterically at my problem. It doesn’t sound that bad, but I just couldn’t think how to get downstairs leading with my right leg. I felt like that poor squeaking Robot in Robocop.
My other issue is the horses, who are feeling neglected. They are once again confined to their stables because the farmer believes the land is too wet for them to be turned out. This is causing major problems, because Dub and Jezabel are too much for my Mum to handle. Incidentally this means my nutty thoroughbred and three year old bronco aren’t getting any exercise. They aren’t leaving the stable, at all. The farmer is aware of my situation. He is aware that I have a broken leg and there is no else who can exercise them. Does he give a rats arse? Does he hell!
What fun we will have when they are eventually turned out…
On a more serious note I aren’t happy about the whole situation at all. Dub has a dust allergy, and although this can be managed under normal circumstances with good quality hay and straw being utilised. Being confined to the stable (in addition to someone feeding him manky spore encrusted hay one day) has meant he has developed a lovely deep cough. If he doesn’t go out soon he’ll develop another chest infection – he needs to clear his pipes!.
I can soak his way, and put him on dust free bedding in the meantime but this means nothing, because some twit has already exposed him to the spores. It takes a week of daytime turnout to help him clear his tubes.
In other news: I’ve realised that just as I have my pot removed it will be time to start breaking in Jezabel… Fun lies ahead.