Friday 23rd September 2005
The date of my second clinic appointment is here and I am full of optimism. And why shouldn't I feel full of the joys of spring?
After all, my leg isn't hurting, the scar is healing absolutely beautifully - even the stich marks have disappeared, the scar itself is not very obvious, I haven't had any infections in the wound or any of the pin sites on my external fixator (touch wood), and I'm slowly regaining some strength and increased mobility in my shoulder.
I have this notion in my head that I will shortly be parting company with my external fixator and walking very soon. I will soon learn how misguided this notion is.
So every reason to expect good news, right? Wrong! It's human nature to be naturally optimistic. It's only the slow onset of the depression that occasionally overtakes us in this crippled state that strips the optimism away and leaves you purely with despair and a light at the end of an extremely long tunnel moving further and further away.
Good days, bad days, good days, bad days - there's no pattern to it and you never know when you're going to feel down in the dumps again.
But a quick trip to see your OS quicky brings reality crashing down about your ears.
I attend my clinic, making extra sure that I don't attempt to close the door of the taxi that drops me off - got into trouble the last time I did that lol. First thing my OS does is send me straight off for x-rays, so I trot off (haha), ok HOBBLE off to get some new irradiated photos of my buggered leg and shoulder. I ask the radiographer for a sneak peak, which I regret doing. Even to my untrained eye, I can see that there is virtually no change between these x-rays and the ones taken 6 weeks ago. The balloon that is my optimism suddenly goes pop, the bang being very loud inside my head. I'm wheeled back to see the OS and present him with my new x-rays. He takes a look and confirms what I thought.
He tells me that there's good news and bad news. The good news is that there is now bridging callus visible on the x-ray which I see now as he has the x-ray on a lit background (which I didn't have). It looks like smoke between the line of the fracture. He says that this is a good sign as callus is pretty much off the radar for normal x-rays until it is well developed. The bad news he says, is that I will have to keep the external fixator on for another six weeks at which point he will review me again.
I can almost hear my fixator laughing at me as I leave the hospital, "So you thought you could get rid of me, huh! I don't give up without a fight buddy!". I tell myself to stop thinking along those lines, as clearly, external fixators can't talk lol.
I can imagine how convicted prisoners feel when they are transported from the court to their penitentiary. That long, long drive. And with every inch, meter and mile, you can feel your liberty being stripped off of you.
I have held it together all throughout the clinic and the journey home, but when I finally get indoors, I collapse in floods of tears. I sob and sob and sob. When will this bloody nightmare ever end? My Mum does her best to console me but it's a lost cause presently. So I go back in 42 days, it might as well be 42 years to my tortured brain.
This is going to be very hard for me, but like every good criminal, I acknowledge that I've got to "get my head down and do my time".
Ok, 2200hrs, lights out. Prisoner 101010 (as in won nothing won nothing won nothing lol) lays himself up for the night.
Night, night dear diary.