Thursday, September 08, 2011

Where was I?

He phoned just before 4pm.
"I've crashed, " he said.

Being married to a man who loves his sports cars (not to mention the motorbikes) means that I've been expecting this call for nearly seventeen years. When it finally came, I was grateful he'd phoned me himself, having hung up on the emergency services lest they get to me first.
"Are you all right?" I asked.
"I'm fine," he replied, "but I think I've hurt my foot."
I had a little panic then: this is a man who could slice off his finger and mention only a small cut.
"What sort of hurt-your-foot," I asked.
"It hurts when I move it, and I'm stuck."
Poor lamb. He was stuck in the wreckage for over an hour while they searched for him (he didn't know exactly where he was, and his satnav had been flung out by the force of the impact). Eventually, he was spotted by a kindly farmer, bumbling along on his tractor, who noticed something unusual sticking out of the hedge...

Altogether, he broke three bones; one of them in four places, and the 'hurt foot' required a major reconstruction of his lower left leg. Three months, and three operations later (so far), it remains encased in a steel frame (with all kinds of exciting bits to twiddle). He doesn't get much pain now, he says, and has stopped swearing at his leg, but I can tell you he swears a lot at his crutches instead.

Now he's past the seriously-injured stage (sleeps well, can stay awake all day, isn't popping pills every hour), he's reached the frustration stage. He thinks he's better (which is laughable), and being a man, he's trying to get on with Normal Life. Only he can't. Not even nearly. Hence the swearing. This is at least as hard to live with as having a fragile, bed-bound, smashed-up invalid in the house.

He's getting better. Not day-to-day, or even week-to-week, but if we look back a month, he's much better than he was. Eighteen months, the consultant said, and we've done two of them already.

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These people have made it all possible: the Brighton Orthopaedic Trauma Team, who are talented and lovely with it; Queenie, who thinks she's neglected me, but has just been wonderful; Jane and Angie who have picked up so many pieces I've lost count; my dad, who paid for a cleaning fairy; and my kids, who stepped up to the mark when I needed them to.

8 comments:

Bernadette said...

Oh dear, Leigh, I had no idea all of this was going on. I'm so sorry about the accident.

I do hope you both recover soon.

xxx

DAB said...

Bloody men, eh?

Yes indeedy. Remember the only way is up. Keep smiling m'dear and look after yourself :)

CC said...

I know what you mean about men! Ha, if the shoe was on the other foot he would have crumbled like any other man a week or so in.

You are woman, and I offer you a speedy recovery for your husband and for you as well. Just remember if it gets too much to handle there are still pills...not for him BUT for YOU!

Sue Guiney said...

What an ordeal! I'm glad he's on the mend, but you definitely need some time for you now too!

Helen said...

I had no idea you were having to deal with all of this. I hope the corner has turned and you get a chance to spend some time with yourself soon. x

B said...

Bloody hell. It all sounds awful. Well done for holding it together, it can't have been easy. (And thanks for still being out there when I pretty much disappeared from the writing community.) xxx

Queenie said...

Awwwww *sniff* you are lovely xxx

womagwriter said...

You're being amazing. He's getting better (slowly) and the me-time will resume.