The cast from my broken leg has finally been removed. Its no secret that I have been waiting for this day for six whole weeks. But did anyone tell me it would feel worse after my pot was removed? No, they did not.

Still it all went without much pain surprisingly. I was whisked through the waiting room so fast my crutches barely hit the floor. My pot was removed with a scary looking circular cutting device that looked capable of slicing your leg off never mind the pot. After the painful episodes with the suma wrestler nurse I don´t have a great deal of trust for a nurse with a circular saw.

Immediately after the pot was removed I felt faint. It could have been the strange sensations running through my leg, or the rather unpleasant appearance of my skin. Without going into too much detail on the latter. Imagine your lower leg encased in a solid object for six whole weeks without any contact with fresh air, water or sun. In a word – Ugh. I look like I have some chronic skin condition.

The pot was barely off my leg when the nurse appeared to take me through to X-Ray. No sumo wrestler this time.

The next part was slower. As I sat waiting for the consultant I started to panic. What if they said I needed another pot? What if it still wasn’t healing and they had to pin it? These concerns were not helped by a man sat next to me, whose mother insisted on telling me his life history. The entire tale culminating in the fact that this was the third time his cast had been removed, and each time they had decided to fit another.

Oh no.

About an hour later the consultant appeared. He was so tiny, I thought maybe he was a mini me version of the original.

He told me to stand and put my weight on it. So I did. It felt awful, every sensation seemed heightened and it seemed almost as though my leg was naked and unsupported.

Of course, being me, when he asked how it felt I said it felt fine.

Then he told me to walk on it. For a second I panicked. It was strange; suddenly walking without a cast seemed like an awful big deal. The confidence to do it wasn´t there, but I knew that if I didn´t demonstrate I could do it, they would want to put another cast on.

I put foot to floor, and a spasm (not quite pain but near enough) rocketed up through my leg. I winced but marched on, hoping above all else I was convincing enough.

I think I was. The consultant smiled. ‘You´re pretty tough aren´t you’ he said laughing, and then told me I needed some physiotherapy but could go home without a pot so long as I came back in six weeks.

Result! Now I just have to convince my leg being without a pot is a good thing. I can have a bath. I can moisturize. By the appearance of the leg I am going to need specialist chemical treatment just to strip off the debris.

I never thought that I would see the day when I would actually chose to come into work over staying home, but I have. It’s barely been a week since I broke my leg and I am already suffering from extreme cabin fever. I’m really frustrated having to rely on the help of others, and know I am driving my mother insane because I keep trying to do the impossible on one leg.

I insisted on coming in to work today for instance despite having to negotiate the 30 steep stairs into the office. I fell at the top and landed on my left leg (the one that isn’t supposed to bear any weight).

The pain!

The strangest part of all this is my willingness to see the funny side of it.  Well, let’s be honest, if I didn’t laugh so much I would probably cry.

I have discovered crutches and I do not mesh. Whoever designed the awful things needs to be punished. I suggest this – let them negotiate their lives on a pogo stick with two rubber soled canes which have the non slip capacity of a banana skin. I can just imagine him/her now, sat down in their little office chuckling because they have the entire crippled population hopping round on such a contraption. Well I say flawed, it may well have been designed that way on purpose to raise those patient number’s I was talking about earlier in the week.

It’s no wonder the fracture clinic at my local hospital is the busiest department in the whole place. My reasoning is, I admit, a little far fetched but do bare with me. I believe it to be rigged. Its rigged. Its design, at first believed flawed at all by many, has been purposefully setup in order to target the accident prone individual like myself. Why do I believe such a thing? Well, you may well wonder. But I firmly believe that it was intended to raise patient numbers.

The path which leads to the entrance is comprised of a material which, when wet, is an excellent surface for sliding. Why else would anyone chose such a material on an entrance which gently slopes downhill? If the gentle, yet unexpected decline, doesn’t catch you unaware – the fact it is a material second only to ice for its slippery properties should.

Then there is the beautifully polished entrance area, which, with only one more coat of wax could actually double as an ice skating ring. Its a marvel to the eye and a painful surface for the arse.

The carpet grip separating the polished entrance from the nicely carpeted waiting room, which has worked its way lose, is the next booby trap for the unsuspecting. Usually by this time a patient’s companion, who may not have had fractured limb when he enters, is sure to have one ready for when he leaves.

The chairs are worse still. The wobbly barely screwed on legs would, without doubt, have you wondering if  the hospital was indeed financed by head count – even if you had not noticed the booby traps on the way. Perhaps multiple injuries attract a nice bonus?

Then of course there is the patient’s themselves who, when faced with a seat in a narrow corridor, chose to sit with injured leg and crutches covering the whole aisle. A most effective method I have found, and one which leads me to believe they may not be patients at all but individuals contracted by the hospital.

This may appear a little insane, and you are quite possibly correct. It’s the pain killers I seem to be eating, almost as though they are about to go out of fashion. Today hurt. The examination and the re-positioning of my leg for correct healing above all else. The latter hurt so much I wanted to pass out – sadly, it didn’t happen. I remained conscious throughout. Would you perhaps like to hear about the straightening of my leg in HD? Perhaps not, I´d rather not relive the experience of being tended to by the nurse I have nicknamed “Sumo Stephanie“.

Today they explained in greater detail the nature of the injury – an extensive fracture to the fibula. The consultant did not consider this too bad, which is encouraging in retrospect, but at the time left me wondering if he would like to swop places with me.

“That’s not too bad” he said smiling down condescendingly “just keep your weight off it for the next week”

Easily said that done, as I thought of the multitudes of steps I face when I arrived home.

“and next Tuesday we’ll x-ray it again”

Oh boy, lucky me, another session with the Sumo Stephanie.

“and all being well we´ll let you put some weight on it”

Gee, thanks.