I seemed to be in a pleasant peaceful ward. The nurses would give me morphine and other drugs according to a laid down schedule. They measured my blood pressure and took my pulse routinely; what I now know to be "obs".I discover that I have "Tib + Fib" written on the top of my thigh in large black indelible marker, and an arrow pointing towards where my tib and fib are normally kept on the end of my femur, and just above the foot. It reminds me of the Voyage to the Centre of the Earth, and Arne Saknussemm who marks his route with the letters AS and an arrow just like mine.
He asked me if I was in good general health and whether I played sports:
A consultant arrived with a small team of followers, rather like the trail of students following the opinionated and self important consultant in "Doctor in the House".
"Fitter than most, and I love kitesurfing, snowboarding, dancing, cycling..."
"Ah. You should be aware that this is a life changing event."
Silence.
He explained the damage and the two options;-
1. A post inserted down the fibia, and some pins across the knee.
2. Some metal rings around the leg, with pins to support the bone.
"The first option will have you up and about quite quickly, but there are more risks because we make more cuts. The second option will take longer."
"Which would you advise?"
"I can't tell you that because it would influence your decision."
Huh? ...Must look up the meaning of consultant.
I asked some questions, and then said I'd have to think about it.
A girl came to ask lots of questions about allergies and diet. I explained I don't drink milk because it gives me migraines. It all seemed OK.
Later that day another consultant arrived, this time without a troop of white coats in tow.
"So, I think we should put two screws in across the knee, and mount two rings around the break. After about a month you will be able to bear weight, and after 4-6 months we'll take the rings off. Then you'll wear a big plastic boot for a month."
It seemed that accepting the extra time in re
covery would insure against long term deformity, and meant less risk of complications. I agreed, and the long wait started. "We might fit you in today, or maybe tomorrow morning." I guess this was Wednesday, the day after the accident.
A very pleasant and friendly young lady wheeled a computer
into the ward and showed me the Xrays and the CT scans:
Tibia fractured with bits of bone surrounding the break.
Fibula shattered into 3-4 pieces.
"Nil by mouth" is imposed, and I wait for the call to the theatre. Late in the day I'm told that I can now eat, because I won't be needed until next day, but that "Nil by mouth" will be reimposed at midnight, so eat.
A guy came to ask me what food I wanted. The menu was brief, and a bit plain, but I opted for the jerk chicken. As it turned out, that was the only reasonable food for several days, or maybe I was just hungry. (The suggested substitute for milk was... you guessed; water! And if I didn't want cereal then I had to specifically request something else. I got toast and butter. errrr wow.)
I can't remember sleeping, or not sleeping. But I can remember thinking "Why haven't I needed to urinate?"The next morning passed. More painkillers arrived on schedule. I called the insurance company. I spoke to my sister or mother on the phone (can't remember). I suppose I dosed.
Then I hear my name called. I'm not exactly ready to leap out of bed, so I wave an arm. We're off to see the wizard. ...And boy am I scared!
It's a long journey. I ask how many theatres they have, and the porter counts on his fingers. When he runs out of fingers he looks toward his toes. They've got a lot of theatres. As we roll into the pre-op area, the blue clad wizard and his apprentice are leaning nonchalantly against the door posts. "Here he is at last." The anaesthetists begin work. Tubes go into my arm, and as usual, they miss first time. We chat, and then someone is waking me up, I say something, apparently everything is ok.
I have no idea that almost 4 hours have passed since I entered the theatre.
Then I wake up in hell.
