The more attentive
amongst you will recall that a year ago I broke my leg. It wasn't a great
experience, but on the list of 'bad things that happen in life', it
certainly wasn't one of the worst.
It took a while to get it fixed but I was
reassured that I would be back to normal in no time. Upon hearing I needed
surgery, Husband's first question to Surgeon was how long it would be until I
was back to running my usual Ultra Marathons.
Surgeon was examining an overweight,
sweaty, breathless middle-aged woman. His face was contorted into a failed
attempt at 'professionalism', whilst attempting to prevent a snort escaping his
nose.
Husband admitted he was 'pulling his leg'
– pun intended – and surgeon went on to confirm that although Marathons might
not be my future thing, I would at least be able to run for a bus if so
required. Not my thing either. Even before breaking my leg.
So there was no reason to be dismayed.
Breakages happen. And there were pros and cons. Pros were binge-watching
Netflix, no cleaning duties (I only ever cleaned once every 6 months anyway),
and not having to cook. Cons were severe pain around the ankle area and not
being able to walk, which I converted into a pro by training my teenagers to be
mini slaves. Which they just loved.
Weekly physio ensued - pleasant when it
involved massage by a rather striking Israeli Masseur - unpleasant when I had
to do some 'exercise'. This was a new word in both my Hebrew and English
vocabulary and one I pretended I didn’t understand.
I was told to allow a full year for
recovery. As the scars faded, my leg no longer resembled a swollen elephant's
leg. It just resembled a normal elephant's leg. And then a new
symptom appeared. A rash. A very, ugly, rash.
When mentioning to others that you have a
rash, you are faced with two responses... either people jump 20 feet in the air
shouting ‘stay away from me with your disgusting herpes thing!', or they look
at you sideways, smirk and sneer, 'rash? Pah! I've had a permanent rash on some
part of my body since I was 2 weeks old'.
So I began a fun mission to track down the
'rash smirkers and sneerers' and insist on showing them the pretty pattern on
my leg…. 'Go on then, let's be 'avin you, I've seen rashes that were so big
they ………….….OMG. What the blummin' 'eck is that?'
Well, you've got to find your laughs where
you can, when you're walking around with an elephant's leg.
The weeks passed and the swelling got
worse. The rash was scaring small children in the street, and various Israeli
medical people were telling me that 'something, it is not right.' I was eventually
told there is nothing more they could do. Cartilage / scar tissue / unique
break / wow you broke it so well / excellent work love, all conspired to mean
I would never be back to how I was.
When I broke the news to concerned friends
and families, their reactions varied from 'fantastic news, get me a disabled
sticker', to 'well you didn't work hard enough at the physio. When my dog trainers'-brother's-neurologists'-wife tripped over her cockapoo,
she did physio every day until she passed out. Did you do that?'
I'll admit that my physio wasn't quite as
intense as it could have been. I may have lied a little about
the quantity of trimaleolar ankle rotations I had practised at home; and I couldn't
say for sure whether I had fully completed the 250 push-ups; but I was thoroughly enjoying the massage from striking Israeli Masseur.
But the main thing I noticed was how keen others were to
give well-meaning advice. 'Have you seen Dr Filipinovitz? My word, he worked
wonders on my Lionel's arthritic calcaneus.' Or, 'do you remember when I had
that awful debilitating osteo-arthritis in my thumb-nail? Well, Bikram yoga totally cleared it up. Speak to
Ramdev. He'll sort you out'.
So, although it would be so nice if we
lived in a world where all medical problems can be fixed, sometimes - they
can't.
I now have to face the fact that my life-long
dream of being Ultra Marathon Champion is over.
It’s a hard pill to swallow.
