gerardcarey
Veteran Member
I could only see a little way, out of one eye.
Just the blood trickling down my nose, a blurry bit of concrete up close, and a few strands of grass.
My right hip had dislocated and I had nose-dived into the pavement.
Gave it a right good head butting didn't I.
I was unable to move, cast like an old ewe, as we say in sheep country.
It’s a bugger when that happens.
Then again, how lucky was I? Lucky it didn’t happen on the Camino Frances.
I’d only just got home from Spain.
I still had hold of Henry, although I couldn’t see him.
He was at the end of his stretchy lead, pulling and whining, wanting to continue his walk.
Fortunately I was outside a school around closing time, amid mothers arriving to collect their children.
They came rushing. “No heart attack! No stroke!” I assured them, “I've dislocated my hip.”
“Dig the phone out of my pocket and call an ambulance,” I requested, “and please call Shirley, Henry’s mother. Tell her to come and collect him. She’s my neighbour. I only take him for walks.”
The ambulance lasses scraped me off the footpath and hoisted me up into their vehicle and it seemed only few minutes before I was in the accident/emergency department of the local hospital.
They banged it back in the next day and I was sent home with strict instructions to be careful until they could fit me in for a replacement, or Revision, as they call it. A Revision is when they have to replace a hip that has already been replaced once, 20 years previously in my case.
A week later I was having a shower when I turned to rinse the soap off my back.
Bang, out it went again. This time I headed out over the side of the bath.
I grabbed at the shower curtain in passing.
The tiled floor rushed up to greet me rather painfully, and I wound up in an ungainly heap alongside the washing machine.
The shower curtain and it's rail came along for the ride.
This enabled the shower head to continue sprinkling me as I lay face down on the floor.
I lay there for a while, cursing myself for my stupidity and considering my situation.
Then I started hollering for Shirley from next door. She came at a run.
After the last episode she had already figured what had happened.
She stopped outside the bathroom door.
“Are you decent?” she called, “I’m not coming in unless you’re decent!”
“That’s bloody lovely isn't it,” I said, “a bloke could die in here while you stood out there worried about your delicate feelings being upset.”
Henry ran in and jumped up on me.
He commenced to lick my face as I tried one-handed to arrange the shower curtain about my person.
Horrid little dog he is, he just liked the taste of my blood.
“Now I’m decent,” I called. Shirley came in.
“Oh,” she said, “Isn't that lovely. Henry’s worried about you.”
“No he’s not,” I replied, “and neither is his mother. Now turn that rotten shower off and ring me an ambulance.”
They banged it back in again the next day.
“Right Gerard,” said the surgeon, “we’ll have to bump you up the operating list. Can’t have this happening again.”
“Good oh,” I said, “When?”
He consulted his diary.
“Next week, Tuesday. Now please be extra careful until then. Then it will take six months to recover completely. Revisions take much longer than ordinary hip replacements. Any questions?”
“Will I be right to walk the Camino again next year?” I asked.
He shook his head in resignation.
“You should be fine,” he replied, "but couldn't you do something a little less strenuous? You've worn out your two good hips and we've replaced them. Now we have to replace one of the replacements! That means you’ll be on your 5th hip. Do you have to do that Camino thing again? ”
“Yes,” I replied, “I have to. All my friends will be there. I don’t want to miss them.”
“And what friends are they?” he asked.
“Well I don’t know,” I replied, “I haven’t met them yet. But they’ll all be there I can assure you of that.”
He looked at me quizzically.
They don’t understand, do they?
Regds
Gerard
Just the blood trickling down my nose, a blurry bit of concrete up close, and a few strands of grass.
My right hip had dislocated and I had nose-dived into the pavement.
Gave it a right good head butting didn't I.
I was unable to move, cast like an old ewe, as we say in sheep country.
It’s a bugger when that happens.
Then again, how lucky was I? Lucky it didn’t happen on the Camino Frances.
I’d only just got home from Spain.
I still had hold of Henry, although I couldn’t see him.
He was at the end of his stretchy lead, pulling and whining, wanting to continue his walk.
Fortunately I was outside a school around closing time, amid mothers arriving to collect their children.
They came rushing. “No heart attack! No stroke!” I assured them, “I've dislocated my hip.”
“Dig the phone out of my pocket and call an ambulance,” I requested, “and please call Shirley, Henry’s mother. Tell her to come and collect him. She’s my neighbour. I only take him for walks.”
The ambulance lasses scraped me off the footpath and hoisted me up into their vehicle and it seemed only few minutes before I was in the accident/emergency department of the local hospital.
They banged it back in the next day and I was sent home with strict instructions to be careful until they could fit me in for a replacement, or Revision, as they call it. A Revision is when they have to replace a hip that has already been replaced once, 20 years previously in my case.
A week later I was having a shower when I turned to rinse the soap off my back.
Bang, out it went again. This time I headed out over the side of the bath.
I grabbed at the shower curtain in passing.
The tiled floor rushed up to greet me rather painfully, and I wound up in an ungainly heap alongside the washing machine.
The shower curtain and it's rail came along for the ride.
This enabled the shower head to continue sprinkling me as I lay face down on the floor.
I lay there for a while, cursing myself for my stupidity and considering my situation.
Then I started hollering for Shirley from next door. She came at a run.
After the last episode she had already figured what had happened.
She stopped outside the bathroom door.
“Are you decent?” she called, “I’m not coming in unless you’re decent!”
“That’s bloody lovely isn't it,” I said, “a bloke could die in here while you stood out there worried about your delicate feelings being upset.”
Henry ran in and jumped up on me.
He commenced to lick my face as I tried one-handed to arrange the shower curtain about my person.
Horrid little dog he is, he just liked the taste of my blood.
“Now I’m decent,” I called. Shirley came in.
“Oh,” she said, “Isn't that lovely. Henry’s worried about you.”
“No he’s not,” I replied, “and neither is his mother. Now turn that rotten shower off and ring me an ambulance.”
They banged it back in again the next day.
“Right Gerard,” said the surgeon, “we’ll have to bump you up the operating list. Can’t have this happening again.”
“Good oh,” I said, “When?”
He consulted his diary.
“Next week, Tuesday. Now please be extra careful until then. Then it will take six months to recover completely. Revisions take much longer than ordinary hip replacements. Any questions?”
“Will I be right to walk the Camino again next year?” I asked.
He shook his head in resignation.
“You should be fine,” he replied, "but couldn't you do something a little less strenuous? You've worn out your two good hips and we've replaced them. Now we have to replace one of the replacements! That means you’ll be on your 5th hip. Do you have to do that Camino thing again? ”
“Yes,” I replied, “I have to. All my friends will be there. I don’t want to miss them.”
“And what friends are they?” he asked.
“Well I don’t know,” I replied, “I haven’t met them yet. But they’ll all be there I can assure you of that.”
He looked at me quizzically.
They don’t understand, do they?
Regds
Gerard
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