On Trying to be Grateful

Me looking glam

So I have broken my arm .

The first question people will ask is: “How did you manage that?”

And my answer has to be, on this occasion, that I managed a very thorough job thank you very much. If this had been something I wanted to do, I could honestly say I would be proud of the thoroughness of the experience. From insisting it wasn’t a problem to be using an unsafe wheelchair, to falling off said perambulatory device onto the floor of the lift in B&M in Cardigan, to a relatively short wait ( two hours) for an ambulance and subsequent breakdown of the damage from the medics (pretty bloody severe as it happens) I have done a thoroughly good job.

According to the doctor, it’s one of the most painful and difficult breaks to deal with and, for a number of reasons, the normal method of pinning it was not recommended.

Treatment? A low sling and a “wait and see”… but my cage fighting days are over, and I doubt my piano playing will improve, but then I haven’t played the piano for over 50 years and I wasn’t much cop then.

Second question everyone asks: “Which arm?” I have asked it myself of other unfortunates, and undoubtedly losing the use of one’s dominant hand is just the icing on a somewhat overcooked cake, but nothing prepared me for how useless one is without the spare arm. You can’t hold anything to open or close it. You cannot use walking aids. You can’t chop or prepare food and, in my case at least, I cannot dress myself. I can’t really draw either as one needs to hold paper or canvas in place.

So, I am quite helpless but… and it’s a biggie… I am working on being grateful for all the kindness and generosity of people.

Don’t misunderstand. I have been quite frankly terrified, especially at the beginning, by the pain (hithertoo I thought I did pain quite well), not being able to lie down or sleep and being haunted by the notion of falling again.

However, I am so lucky we still have an NHS, beleaguered as it is… and grateful for the ambulance that took only two hours to get to me, lever me off the floor and fill me with drugs and which very kindly deposited me at Withybush rather than miles away in Carmarthen.

For lovely Gwen who happened to be in the area and came and sat with me in the ambulance while I waited to be seen. She says I was quite entertaining, but that’s morphine gas and air for you.

For Jo and Julie, Bluetit buddies who brought cake. For my dear Cuz Val who was supposed to be having a holiday in my little paper house but wound up listening to me crying while she helped me shower. For Caryn and Gareth, Catherine, Debbie, Jules, Nia and Helen who have kept me from completely falling apart.

My son, Evan, dear Lil and Rob, who came all the way from darkest England to distract me with philosophical questions, and all the many wellwishers. For all the large and small acts of kindness and messages of love, thank you.

It’s getting better, though still very painful, and I don’t know how well it is repairing until my next hospital appointment in a couple of weeks. I am setting up an exhibition in Fishguard Library for June (or rather I will be sitting in a much more stable wheelchair while other people do the work)

I have my beautiful view, warmth and comfort. I have chocolate and Pepsi Max and a comfy sofa (bed is a bridge too far as I write). I have cats to ignore me and new plants feeding the slugs on my terrace.

It’s not all bad… but I really must give falling over again a miss.

Big blessings, all.