The END.....Or a new beginning

Blogs are great but when you try to tell a story, the timeline is messed up. The first entry in this blog is down here oh-my-god-what-happened-to-your-leg??? and this bit is the end. If you are reading this for the first time then go down to the beggining and it will make a wee bit more sense,,,(Not much admittedly)

More than a year down the line, 17 months after an evening jaunt on the bike and the saga is over. After much discussion with that nice Mr Barker the metal worker at ARI, he agreed to take the screws out of my leg leaving the IM nail so I can still have fun at airport security.

Today the stitches were removed and finally the last threads of my story get pulled out. Harrah Harrah.

Getting the 4 screws out was a doddle, In early in the morning I arrived at the Woodbank hospital with a massive hangover due to some friends the night before. Those barbeques should come with a health warning or maybe it should be the friends. I slept most of the morning and by lunchtime was bored stiff, no water no food before the op. There were a couple of other detainees including a laddie from the Islands and we struck up an entertaining banter between us and the Nurses including Atilla the OCD matron. Ah so easy to wind up, like catching flies in a cesspool.

About 2pm a young laddie who looked fresh out of school comes past and painted yet another arrow on my leg. I assume that when they take the screws out there is a chance the leg will fall off and the arrow is there to show Mr B which end the foot goes on. I might be wrong, it may just be to mark me as an inmate. It looked kinda lonely there so when he disappeared leaving the pen on Atillas desk, I grabbed it and added a few more to give the leg a more post modernist look. I mean if the poor souls have to look at one of my limbs for an hour, it might as well look it’s best. To top it off, I added a nice dotted line round the knee with a cut here motif and a little picture of a saw.

They provided me with another of those wonderful sheets with draw strings they laughingly call a robe. And as usual my backside is hanging out the thing. Good job I lost my modesty ages ago in the Chinese toilet incident so when they came to get me I was doing handstands to the cheers of all around and the disgust of Atilla.

Once again we go on the long trek to surgery, I offered to help push the bed but they seemed determined to do it themselves.

Once we reach the bowels of the hostpital, which it must be said is an amazing vicorian building still ringing with the cries of the patients from a hundred years ago I get into a heated discussion regards the number of screws to be removed. I win they are all to be removed. Mr B loves the artwork, the nurses however have left their sense of humour at home again. Maybe we should pay them more to bring it into work with them.

Isn’t modern anaesthetic wonderful. No more of this count down from 10 business, the needle goes in, you see it happen and instant sleep. It’s like listening to a politician.

I wake up an hour later embarrassed to find myself wearing a complete Gimp outfit and a gas mask being held down and laughed at by 6 nurses wearing sexy underwear only to realise that my dreams are a bit weirder than perhaps they should be.

And then……. The cup of tea….OH MY GOD is that not the best cuppa tea you ever get. Wonderful. Thank you Mr Barker, surgeon of Aberdeen, If they gave points for surgeons like they do for ebay sellers, you and your team would have 5 gold ones. Taking the screws out has made a huge difference, suddenly I can run again. Obviously I don’t, but the point is I could if I wanted to which makes me happy.

So that’s the story. I clicked on to the http://www.mybrokenleg.com/ site that night just to say goodbye for ever. After all that time I didn’t expect to talk to anyone I knew but there were a couple of die hards still left there hobbling away on the keyboards but the place has become alien to me now. When you are sitting at 3 in the morning alone and in pain and scared and angry and lost, it’s a good place to be as there is always someone there even deeper in the shit than you are. Though I may occasionally tell a mocking story of our NHS system, at least it’s open 24/7 to deal with idiots like me when I need it. My heart goes out to our transatlantic cousins with no insurance and an ever deepening chasm of pain and fear opening up beneath them when they fall ill.

So have I lived a quiet and sensible life in the intervening year since my last post?

….Well yes and no….
It has not been the usual whirl of mad escapades in strange lands although a couple of trips do stand out. A few months ago Shane calls me out of the blue. Haven’t seen the madman for years but his ROV is knackered and he wants a solution fast. Not a chance says I up to my eyeballs in Alligators, too busy….It’s near the Artic circle he says, Saskatchewan in Canada….still too busy says I, but keep talking…It’s down a flooded Uranium Mine….OK now I’m interested but playing hard to get….It’s minus 50 degrees today he says, Book my flight says I and there I am in a bar in Saskatoon in the middle of nowhere on my own so I wander up to a bunch of locals having a beer. They are first nation Indians, chiefs mostly in town for a pow wow and the beers flow and jokes get told and Wally from the Cree tribe leans over and says “I’ve got a good one”

Now I did notice that all these local guys seem to have Scottish names, they like a dram or two and are overly keen to burst into song at the drop of a hat. I’m afraid my Scottish ancestors left more than an impression on the locals, they left half their genes here too.

Anyway “why do Indians like playing golf” says Wally. All the other chiefs are shaking their heads thinking Oh God no, not the Indian golf joke please. "Ha" says Wally "cos it’s the only white thing we can hit with a stick and get away with it"

and the other chiefs glance away watching the last vestiges of decades long battles for political correctness fly out the window. I laughed so hard I nearly spilt my beer. I am so glad I get to meet people like Wally, he reminds me of what it means to be human and alive and that the fight for fairness still battles on even in the far flung wilds of the world. I have kept his card and if I ever go back I am looking him up cos I bet he’s got a few more good stories to tell. And Shane lied his head off, it only got to –40 degrees at cigar lake when I was there.

And last month I found myself in Zhang Jian in southern china. I think Dante Alighieri must have visited here, he clearly used it as the template for the 6th ring. Anyway, there I am late one night a few hundred miles out in the raging south china seas on the back deck of a little anchor handler. I have two Chinese minders behind me and I am trying to pick up the wifi signal from my latest invention, the control system for a 400 ton artificial seabed (AS) floating a hundred meters away, The seas are breaking over the deck the night is evil, it’s dark and cold and the gods are against us. I have my remote control above my head, no signal, but it’s

there, I know it is, so I start to shout, the wind whips the hair from my salt crazed face as I scream and curse and demand satisfaction from the gods, the boat heaves up and down, and I will not be beaten, I will force a connection by shear will power and anger and stubbornness as my curses threaten fate, the gods and anyone within a thirty mile radius who dare stand in my way. (in full blown Ahab mode with my great white whale before me) I Win....I get my connection, the beast comes to life, the valves open, thousands of cubic feet of air coming screaming through the pipes rending the dark night air with it’s tortured cry and the beast sinks slowly but surely beneath the waves.

I stand watching it disappear below the surface, moving rapidly from fury to smug mode. I am the master, don’t fuck with me……and as I turn with a big grin on my mug, there are my two minders sheltering from the waves hanging on for dear life to ropes and looking at me with the sure and certain knowledge that I am not only fonzha (crazy) but dangerously so. For the rest of the trip, all self respecting Chinese people eat at different tables watching me from the corners of their eyes and generally gave me a wide berth.
I like to make an impression so people don’t forget me. Mmmm Might of gone a bit far this time.

There were other trips and other insanities in Vietnam and stateside but I may keep them for the book that will never be..though there is one that needs repeating. I was reminded of it by one of the MBL’rs

You may remember me mention a Chinese toilet earlier. Well I told this story to the MBL group a while back but these things get lost on the site so I went back and grabbed it and here it is. I am alone somewhere in China, My foot is like a balloon and sore and I am still wearing my dust covered plastic darth boot in a mosquito ridden hotel room. And so I sit and tell the story.

I'm Still in china and in fact stuck here for a few more days cos my Norwegian colleagues screwed up big time. I finally found out what i am doing here which is nice. I am playing doctor to a 440 ton bright yellow floating seabed. Dont ask, it's big, it goes underwater and has electronics... Hog heaven....I kid you not, what a day...... wearing my best Darth I ventured forth today through the mean streats of Shenzhen in a rickety taxi to be depositied keyside at a ferry. Only 20 minutes ride and you will be there they said.

The gangplank was entertaining, not for me, for the 100 other passengers looking at the freak in the funny boot hopping down the steel steps. They dont do darths over here. The Norwegian company man points to the work site like miles away and gives me a green helmet cos that means I am temporary on site. To the chinese however it means my wife is having an affair. Dont ask me why but apparently it's traditional somehow. Anyway as I hobble through this giant shipyard I find myself suffering the ribald humour of a thousand gentlemen who looked like they were going to fall off their bamboo scalfolding they were laughing so hard, the swines.....Now being an inveterate traveller, and being last night for a somewhat spicy meal at a resteraunt called the "little sheep". the chinese version of macadoddo...(Macdonalds to you)

Oh oh I gotta mention the menu here., We are talking hot pot, cook it yourself in hotternhell Hunan soup.

mongolian sheep fetus (Outer Mongolian, the good fetus)
cows first stomach
cows second stomach
Goats golden balls (dont ask, you know what it is..)
Donkey Penius (Their spelling not mine) (Didn't say where it came from so dont know if it was the good penius or not)

I am sure your getting the picture here.... Anyway where was I,,,,

inveterate traveller. so I stole the toilet paper out the hotel cos i know this is going to have consequences. (I would point out that I actually loved the meal, it was wonderful, I am just glad I didn't ask to see the menu till after I had finished.

So there I am, at the edge of the quay discussing electronics and software and artificial seabeds when the rumbling starts. Says I where is your toilet?.... "Ahh WC" says mine Chinese host "hover there" says he pointing to a long low concrete block about half a mile away. (it probably wasn't but it looked it and this is my tale so shut it...) So there I go in my little red one piece overalls, my green hat, my Darth, my crutch doing the R2D2 hobble over the orange mud and abandoned bamboo and steel of the shipyard. When I get there there is a queue.

And I am causing some commotion not least because of the hat but also cos I am the first European to grace this establishment apparently and the Darth didn’t help.

I get to the front and look round the corner and lo there is a line of Chinese blokes all doing the "business", reading the paper and squatting on the one long trench down the middle of the room, their trousers are round their ankles and they look at me all thinking the same thing..(this is going to be velly good fun)......

It's my turn, is it the guy at the end of the trench so I can hide away at the back?.... no it's the guy in the middle who gets up and waves me in.

Now they all have two piece tunics and newspapers so they dont have to look at the next guys bum. I have a one piece overall and a roll of toilet paper.. the whole lot has to come off.....I hobble up parking my crutch at the side and start to strip. First my hotel key falls out the top pocket straight in the trench. It's staying there, I really don’t care.

The Chinese blokes are all now discussing the fact that I am the same colour all over (A pale Scottish white almost blue under the flourescent lighting) and why do these stupid gwailou’s wear one piece outfits. and why don’t I have a newspaper etc” whilst I, holding the shattered remains of my dignity and a little roll of toilet paper, point my somewhat substantial hairy white unkissable arse at the trench, my overalls round my ankles.

I have no choice.... that Mongolian hot pot will not stay dormant. I explode in a noisy and unctuous cavalcade making my neighbours fore and aft jump dramatically. The place is in uproar and the guy in front turns round looks at me, looks at it and says in broken english, colour good but too watery...........Thanks.. I really needed to know that...

It's one of those moments in time that will remain imprinted on my brain for ever. There could not have been a hole deep enough for me to hide in. It was the worst experiance of my life..(What a stupid thing to think, how wrong can you be)....

There is a noise behind me, I ignore it, it is nothing compared to my humiliation. The tank at the end of the trough flushes, the trough turns into a flash flood of poo, all the other guys stand and lift their trousers a bit moving their feet apart cos they know what’s coming, my overalls round my ankles act as a filter for the flood cos I am still squatting there in embarrassment. Much firmer poo’s than mine collect in the gusset like little birds eggs in a chocolate nest. It even seeps into my Darth. As I stare in utter astonishment at this horror, the last thing I see is my toilet roll sinking slowly into the mire.

Twenty men with their trousers round their ankles, laughing so hard they have to hold each other…”AND he’s wearing a green hat, no wonder his wife is having an affair”

Aigh It's been a day..........

10 minutes after this, I am wearing someone elses spare pair of two part grey overalls. They are small but clean. These guys are patting me on the back and checking out my cool, now washed Darth. I am one of the lads, I am welcome, I am in the team. Even the green hat is swapped for a white one. (It probably means I'm gay or something, who can tell)

I get back to the AS guys and they look at my new overalls and ask what happened. Once they stop laughing, Joseph the guy in charge says in broken English through heaving shoulders and withheld giggles,

“I Not mean those toilets, I mean ones in the office block.... European ones......”

Oh how we all laughed .aaaaaagh I just told the story to Babs on the phone. She laughed so hard she hung up on me. I might as well come on here and share with you guys too. I really hope tomorrow improves and please anyone coming to China. Avoid the little sheep restaurants like the plague..........

So thats it. This is my life. There are more stories, thirty years of the damn things...some worse some funnier and some that cannot be told like why is there a picture of a canadian truck further up the blog and how drunk was I when I drove it and how drunk was the owner when he asked me to. Maybe another blog one day when I get mighty bored. In the meantime thanks for reading and break a leg...

NO NO NO Dont do that!!!

Hopping mad or the general loss of sanity thru a broken leg.

5 WEEKS it's been 5 whole weeks hopping around whirling my crutches, stumbling and mumping at every obstacle in my path, inanimate or otherwise. In 7 days I return to the hospital where the OS will be asked to remove the cast and stitches in my leg or suffer from permanent and catastrophic castration. Such is my mind set.

I have a nice pin in my leg and by now should be able to partially weight bear on it however I find myself for the first time in my life scared to do something. I have no problem throwing myself off bridges tied to knicker elastic or flying to Far eastern oil rigs in WW I helicopters but merely applying a partial weight to my BL scares the living crap out of me. Who would have guessed, Chris Ward degenerated into a woose by a couple of broken bones.

Still I refuse to succumb to melancholy and fear so each day force a little more weight on. In the mean time I get out from under poor Babs feet by working in my little workshop doing my electronicy stuff. Time has flown, The days march past in regimented order marked only by small success and infuriating failures and an itchy set of sutures on my ankle that are DRIVING ME CRAZYYYYY.........



Nancy my beloved Mother in law has been watching my lifestyle of sitting around all day on my fat arse getting cups of tea and eggy sandwiches hand delivered to my couch and has decided to join me. To achieve this she decided to throw herself bodily off her front step (A dizzying height of 2") landing on her middle finger and wrist providing a clean break from both her bones and her work in one fell swoop. Actually less of a swoop, more of a plummet. She now resides with us where we swap broken bone stories whilst my wifes eyes slowly roll up to inspect the pain in her frontal lobes. I consider her actions to be obscenely selfish. Who the hell does she think she is stealing my thunder. I would push her off her pew if I didn't think she would break something else just to annoy me. This is Nancy demonstrating alternative uses for a sling, Unluckily she forgot she had it on and went shopping like this. Nice man brought her home.

Babs "the stalwart" is now one staff member down, one patient up, has a cranky one legged husband 3 inconsiderate expensive children 2 dogs, 2 horses and a guesthouse full of guests. What a full and busy life she leads, she is so lucky not to be sitting here bored out of her mind watching Nancy do a jigsaw with one hand, a task commensurate with watching the tide come in. "BABS! can I have another cuppa please, I'm doing my blog" Well it's thirsty work. This is Babs about to throw some more tea my way.......



The MBL crowd (http://www.mybrokenleg.com/) are still waiting on Arsenals Eduardo Da Silva to join the fraternity. In the meantime our stilted lurch towards two legged mobility staggers on.



A recent discussion on what to do with used crutches produced.

Paddles for the barbed wire canoe
Coat tree
Carpet beater
Frame for a midgets teepee
Standard lamp
Replacement TV Remote control
Spider web removal tool
Device for opening loft hatches
Device for telling upstairs neighbour to turn music down
Device to demonstrate to husband what it feels like to poked in back when trying to fall asleep
Device to allow continued use of disabled parking
Device for keeping charity collection people at the appropriate distance
Device to clarify to boss why firing you is a bad thing. Requires surgical removal afterwards.
Device for getting served at bar during rush hour (Can be placed underarm for sympathy or swung to create a path)
Cheap golf club/polo stick
Device for smoothing down wet concrete
modern art, (Hung on wall or free standing) (my new coat of arms perhaps)
Child chastiser
Ultimate Bong
tool for getting stuff off the top shelf
Projectile for dealing with next door neighbours cat at 2am
Can be used as part of illicit still to disguise it from revenue officers (now this interests me)
Rubber cap on end makes good wine stopper
Art Deco TV aerial
Pogo stick, (Requires strong spring stuffed in end)
Forearm sections can be bolted to car dashboard to hold large McDonalds Cokes
Device for shooting French Presidents (The Jackel for non film buffs)
Bolt down to floor and stick fishing waders upside down to dry them
Unusual candelabra
Old fashioned Door bell pull
Toys for children (mine cant keep their hands off them)
Device to prop up young trees or cannabis plants (depending on your gardening habits)
musical instrument (Mine have holes in the aluminium tube)
Unusual garden water feature (Holes again)
Device for measuring how much diesel is left in horsebox tank (I used mine for this purpose today so it's not stupid so there!!!!!!!!!!ha)
Spare legs for kitchen table
Device for tripping up mother in law at her front door
Device for poking mother in law in order to recover TV remote control
Special seat to prop up mother inlaw (Similar usage to earlier boss application)

This is how bored we are......Thanks to Mary Smith and all the fellow temporary cripples who contributed.

Do you know whats weird. The Internet is full of videos of people having bad accidents, From Eduardos recent problems to kids failing to pull off a triple turkey on a skateboard (I think that's what it's called) Now I cant stand this stuff, I'm not squeamish, not a bit, I have seen some bad shit in 30 years offshore and like we do we deal with it. But going out my way to view these soft snuff videos is just perverse. Yet here I am checking out peoples photos on Picasa, comparing stitches and Xrays. What the hell is that about. I think it's a validation thing, I need to know that there is someone worse off out there yet still getting better. I need to know I am getting better. I think I am scared and that really scares me. How can a physical accident emotionally cripple you. It's not just me I suddenly realised, MBL's very existence is dependent on everyone getting these fears. Now I am pretty sure that I can dispassionately observe this and move on, (mmm) but if I can get messed up with a relatively small thing like this, how the hell do people with Post Traumatic Stress recover their composure.

Woody the wood pigeon came to a dramatic end today in the back garden. No time for PTS for him, Remember this is in the middle of Aberdeen, oil village of Europe. Ouch. Not being a birdy person, if anyone recognises his Nemesis do let me know. Now I wonder if I could train him to go for MIL's naah that would be cruelty to birds

It's my wheelchair and I'll ride it if I want

• The My broken leg web site is a joy. Lots of healthy backslapping and plenty of grumbling and moaning, completely addictive. The thread holding it together is obviously the frustration pain and annoyance to be found when laid up with a damaged lower limb. Most of the posts are straight forward based on steps forwards or back but occasionally one starts an outpouring of pent up fury.
  The lovely Meli started one recently posting about well meaning people trying to get her out of the wheelchair.
  
  “I am so sick of people telling me I should be walking by now. They come to see me, or just drop in the store, and say, "What are you still doing in that wheelchair" or "Are you still on that walker"? These are suppose to be friends…….I know these folks mean well but, please, give me your best shot at what I can say to get them off of my back. Of course they tell me their horrible "strain", "pulled ligament", or "bunionectomy" stories and I just want to scream at them. What can I do. I think I am going to sever some relationships over this.”
  
  Well did this not open the flood gates. Hang them high. Cripple them and then give them a walker, experiment on them using ...duct tape + crutches + mismatched shoes. Trust me on this, don’t screw with the MBL’s, they don’t take it sitting down (Metaphorically of course cos they are actually sitting down) However amongst the more physical responses, there was a few snappy verbal comebacks suggested. Some worthy I think of repeating here.
  
  
• I really like having the handicapped parking place
• I've got these cool calluses on my hands from the walker, and I hate to let them fade
• I could walk, but then nobody would carry stuff or open doors for me
• I'm a pity addict
• I’m doing it for a bet
• They wouldn’t give me the handicapped motorbike
• Does your medical advice count as a second opinion
• Are you saying I've got a limp!
• It's called style dear, something you’ve obviously never come across during your chequered career.
• I like it, I'm having my other leg done shortly.
• I'm doing a charity wheelchair run, would you like to sponsor me for 10 quid
• I'm trying to get an entry in the Guinness book of records, only another year to go.
• It’s a fashion statement
• It’s not a wheelchair, it’s a chair with wheels dumbo
• It was this or the ejection seat
• My accountant suggested it for tax reasons
• You think this is bad, you should see me break dance.
• It's not so much a wheelchair, more an affectation
• I'm entered in this years special Olympics and have to get some practice in
• It's an insurance scam you idiot
• It’s a sexual thing
• Well I did try crawling but this is faster
• Why don’t you F**k off you decomposing bag of chicken giblets

Bottom line, next time you see someone with a cast and crutches coming at you, stand to one side or suffer the consequences. (thanks to Amy for some crackers)

One legged peeing

Right if you are of the female persuasion then away with you right now, cos this is bloke stuff an not for the ears of the gentler sex.

As every man knows, when we stand to pee, there are several things that can happen and one of the least likely is that a nice straight line of pee comes out straight down the pan. Far more likely is that it shoots out at 45 degree angle hitting the floor before we can get things in control with a quick manual adjustment. Or it fans out both sides like a hose with your thumb on it. Weirder things can happen, two streams shoot forth or occasionaly a perfect hit which then descends to total chaos bouncing off the back wall. Oh mostly we get it it where we intend but there is always a few stray drops.

Women of course (in general) sit to effect the same thing but wee men stand, not because it is easy, not because it looks good but for the simple reason that we can. Since the stoneage, man has stood to mark his territory. It is a statement. This tree is mine. Come near it and feel my anger, smell my power. Were it an evolutionary nessesity we would pee with incredible accuracy, like a fish that knocks flies off bushes by spitting at them. Instead we are designed to spray, we are expected to lay down a good mark. It is our heritage, our birthright.

Such things are part of the manness that is our sex. However having a broken leg, I now discover the art of peeing on one leg. Just getting there is a voyage of discovery fnding the crutches leaping forth down the hall negotiating the doors and dogs and children, god forbid the toilet is being used. By the time we actually get there and arrange the crutches and clothing well, lets just say desperation springs to mind. By the time we have pulled the wee man out, nothing not even a cork will hold the flood back. In the mean time, the pain shooting through our broken leg is causing muscles to tense, we are leaning on something, a wall a crutch anything to stand stable but the pressure turns our normal urge to a seething need to pee and then it comes, wobbling uncertainly on one leg, a veritable fountain of uncertain direction. Nothing is sacred within a 180 degree arc. And thus because we have to drink lots of fluids, we do this at significantly increased rates.

All I can say in defense is "Even in pain and misery I make my mark"

But I make no appologies, this is my toilet, smell my power.......

Oh my GOD….. What happened to your leg……….!!!

“What you mean the break, well”…..it all started almost 30 years ago when I was young and innocent, I started working on a ship, and the first night, right after I'd gone to my bunk, the captains stunning daughter came into my cabin. She asked me if there was anything I wanted.
I said, "No, everything is fine." "Are you sure?" she asked. "I'm sure," I said. "Isn't there anything I can do for you?" she wanted to know. "Nope, absolutely nothing," I replied.
And I know what you are thinking, what the hell has this rubbish to do with my broken leg.....Well last Friday I was driving along when it suddenly dawned on me what she was talking about and I fell off my motorbike.

(Jan 24th 8pm on a dark and icy country lane in Scotland)
However as the bike went over I managed with a little dexterity to place my lower leg in exactly the right place to protect the bike from getting badly damaged. I saved my self hundreds of pounds in repairs I reckon. I lay there in the dark on a country lane looking at a cloudless starry sky and various thoughts like, Gosh it’s quiet here. Gosh that stung, I wonder if the two laptops in my back pack survived (They Did) “I know !” I thought, I'll phone Babs and get her to bring Andrew my son up to move the bike off the road. I’ll just crawl with my broken leg to the other side of the road to make sure I don’t get hit by a car first. (which I did (crawl that is, not get hit)) After 15 minutes of agonised bone grinding crawling on my back, I thought bugger I've just crawled 100yards along the road instead of across so I corrected my trajectory accordingly and reached a handy ditch.

Anyway, I organised Babs forgetting to mention the fact that I was lying on the road to her. I gave her a bit of time to get on her way and then thought will I phone my mates first and tell em I’ll be late or will I phone an ambulance. Common sense of course prevailed and I phoned my mates. Then the ambulance guys. At this point things got hazy. I remember a nice young couple asking if I was ok. I told em I was and we had a chat about this and that for a few minutes. Then a pile of cars drove past rubber necking at something, I couldn't see what it was from where I was lying but it must have been good. Then two ambulances arrived with a bunch of sadists who picked me up and put me on a stretcher and then after playing with my foot like a gorilla plays with a dead puppy, they agreed to give me some morphine. They then played hunt the vein for 20 minutes. This is a game I like to play with medical people, I invariably win. (apart from with Mrs Pinsticker the queen of needlecraft at ARI. No silly elastic cuffs for her, straight in, never misses, I worship her) Babs turned up with Andrew but I had screwed up, I had forgotten to ask her to bring a bar of chocolate. Sterling effort Babs in getting the big Honda into the horsebox. Sorry bout your knuckles, yes it is a bit heavy.

I remember a red babies changing mat being wrapped round my foot to immobilise it quite successfully. They do something and the whole thing goes stiff as a board. Very effective then I made fun of the new Paramedic guy for a bit till he stuck another 5ml of morphine in to shut me up then he drove the long way round to make sure he got all the country lane bumps whilst I hung on to the gas and air mask with all my might.

Corridors, flickering fluorescents, Stretcher with wonky wheel, you’ve seen the film.

X ray first. Two lovely witches who proceeded to remove the red babies changing mat. Apparently I can reach a high C with Vibrato and made a 20 year old woman waiting outside with a broken arm wet herself. Once again they were doing that dead puppy impersonation which makes the bone grinding, tear bringing, scream making feeling. Decided I was not going to send them a thank you card. They finally got a couple of shots they liked and shoved me back into a corridor.
I didn't get the op or any form of stabilisation till 27 hours after the accident so spent most of that following day screaming for more morphine and trying very hard not to move so I didn't have to listen to that funny grinding sound (That one that you kinda feel more than hear and stretches morphine’s efficacy to it's limits). . (Isn't morphine wonderful)

Rule 23: always be nice to nurses no matter how annoying they are cos they control the morphine supply. Those angels can have you crying and begging like a baby or lying back with biggest smile on your face since Gladys Arkwrights 21rst Birthday party (Another story, different Blog)

On that first day on the ward whilst playing statues (Ie trying very hard not to even blink), my wife and youngest son Satan arrived. As he walked in of course he tripped and sent the box of chocky biscuits he was carring in a slow motion arc high into the air. It flew with uncanny accuracy up and up and then down and down straight onto my broken leg. (And people still ask why we call him Satan) He then gave me one of those"why are you screaming" looks before wandering off to hunt for sweeties amongst the various slumbering patients.

I went down to surgery about midnight on Friday. A bit nervous you know pins and screws etc to be put in my leg, not quite sure what to expect. The anaesthetist says " I'm just going to inject this and you will be asleep very quickl..........

Anyway I woke up in recovery fighting aliens who were trying to smother me so they could do experiments. I fought bravely for about 15 minutes till the aliens finally explained it was an oxygen mask and I would feel much better if I just let them put the damn thing on me. I saw the funny side of it but I don’t think Theatre nurses are built for humour, Probably something to do with working with patients. I also had a nice new cast on which cheered me up no end, I thought they might forget again. They also gave me a pretty steel nail down the centre of the tibula and some great pins and screws to hold said bone together. The broken ends of the fib were left to find their own solution. I love my stitches, this will be my best scar to date.

Spent another 2 days doped up to the eyeballs with my own personal morphine pump. Great things these. This particular model was different from the last one I used (appendicitis 2006) Probably as well cos I really abused that puppy. This one consists of a large syringe with 100ml of Morphine in it locked by a plastic cover with a key held only by staff nurse Himmler. The hand held switch goes round your wrist and lets you pump 1ml of morphine in every FIVE minutes. I have never watched a clock so carefully in my life. If the makers of the Graseby 3300 are reading this, for gods sake put a beeper in the damn thing so it beeps when the count down ends. It took me three hours to hack the pump and set it for a more prescriptive pain relief setting ie minimum lockout. (In case you are wondering, yes the hospital provides internet access to every bed and yes the manual is on the internet along with photographic instructions on how to get the cover off without a key (Honest!.check it out yourself.)). Anyway, by the second day, my stalwart friends had delivered of me a ready supply of Lucozade/Vodca and Gin/Tonic which can now be purchased in handy tins and works well with the medication unlike the Lucozade/vodca version which although effective tastes foul.

Day 4, off the morphine apart from the odd little tablet begged from a way overworked nurse. My heart goes out to them, crap job and you have to deal with the general public.....UUUUUrgh nb I obviously include myself in this group, I am probably a nightmare patient. Played a game of seeing how many cardboard peepots I could fill before S.N. Himmler noticed and made someone empty them. (8 in case you are wondering, it looked like a cardboard fairy ring under my bed. Spent the day trying to Hack the internet consoles mounted above the beds. Fun but much harder than the Graseby 3300. Still managed to pack mine full of soft porn and downloaded MP3’s and get a months free access. A gift for the next occupant, just hope it's not an old age pensioner, the screen saver will give him a heart attack. Turns out it’s a linux box. (nother story, different Blog) S.N. Himmler decided to bribe me with more morphine to let trainee nurses stick needles in me. Half an hour of fun for the girls and an arm like a southside junkie by the end. One girl invented a new technique which I have dubbed “drilling for blood”

Am in a ward with 5 other lost souls. There is a fast turnround this being a modern british NHS conveyor belt. Guy on the left shot his foot with a nail gun. The six inch nail embedded itself with barbs and had to be pulled all the way through like an indians arrow. Dead cool.

The polish guy had his foot half remove by an irate cow who forgot to clean his hooves. Totally uncool and probably the most pain in any of us.

Grumpy car crash boy with a broken arm was a bit of an arse but at least kept quiet when he wasn't throwing up. Yeah man 2 vodcas in the pub before you drive home can do that to you.....That and the ton of steroids you obviously consume every day you twat.

The old bloke opposite was cool but very uncomfortable, Broken thigh bone and new hip and never grumbled once. (unlike me)

But altsheimer guy front left was the best. He spent his time trying to escape the bed, pulling out his catheter and swinging it round his head with pee flying everywhere (I swear this is true) and screaming out during the night at regular intervals. Getting him out of bed in the morning took 4 of them and involved a lot of screaming, not all his I might add. He managed to upturn his wheely table a few times sending Glass, juice and freshfruit flying everywhere.

To sum it up, I dont know what they pay these lassies but it could never be enough.

Day 5, Crap night due to miserable meds. Finished two paperbacks (both rubbish) Breakfast unedible. Lunch even worse. Got my last morphine tablet before trundling down to X ray. Off with the surgeons cast on with a nice new one done by the cool cast guy.(another old biker) (Who it turns out went to school with my wife. Is there anyone this woman does not know.) then 4 hours later tossed out on the street with two crutches and a bag of Paracetemols and some dihydrocodeine.

A word of warning. As much as I love the pain relief obtained from strong opiates, they mess with your head. Really mess with it. Once again back home from the hostpital and my mood drops through the floor. Sitting watching some crap soap on TV when some characters dog dies of old age and I burst into uncontrollable sobbing. "Hamishes dugs deid" My wife directs one of those looks at me. It is a measure of contempt, a dash of pity in a tall glass topped up with "what on earth did I see in you." It is a particularily good look and resonates well with my current misery. I still cant believe Hamishes dug died, I'm welling up as I think about it.

The last week has been a series of small sleeps with occasional excitement as the wretched leg decides to spasm throwing me into paroxysms of pain interspersed by well chosen curses in a variety of languages. The Hypnic Jerks (Honest, thats what they are called, google it if you dont believe me) as you drift off to sleep are well known and assumed painless. Yeah…with a broken leg they hurt like buggery. First time it happened, I thought Babs was playing soldiers and had just pulled my pin out with her teeth and was getting ready to throw my leg over the wall. My loving “nurse” next to me roused by my screams and heartfelt sobs turns over and in a concerned voice says "will you take another paracetemol, DEAR....I'm trying to sleep...."Oh deep joy.

It's now day 11, My kids are driving me nuts. Satan keeps coming in and saying "look dad, two working legs, yeeha" and then running out again. The pain is miserable ameliorated by regular top ups with scotch and water of an evening. I love my wife but she has the nursing instincts of a Tazmanian devil. (not the cute cartoon one, the real one with psychotic tendencies)I have read 8 paperbacks, all rubbish except "The wake of the Jomon" by Jon Turk who is the kinda guy that makes me look normal. (I like people like that)

I have good internet access thank god and too much time so god only knows what will get written next. I think a snot-a-gram to my MP is called for. Perhaps a eulogy on the difficulty in obtaining disabled stickers for my bike. And why sidecars would be so much more useful to temporary cripples like my self than the gargantuan zimmer frame they actually offered and that I politely left behind in the hospital. I am changing to Gin tonics tonight to see if that helps the jerk. If nothing else, it gives the jerk something to write about tomorrow.

February 5th
Got this bloody leg is still sore, I can still feel grinding. The surgeon was kind enough to put an arrow on my thigh in felt tip to make sure I know which leg is broken. I have to keep checking. The hypnic jerks have not been cured by the Gin Tonic. Despite trying overdose levels that would knock an elephant down. However I found some old diazipam from my sore back period which sorted it out a treat. (1 just before bed in case you are wondering) I dont like taking these puppies as they can seriously mess with your head but I guess the small amount I am having is ok.

Is it just our life or is everyones life really really complicated and getting more so. I field calls from clients who think I am in china working so I have to make Chinese background noises. And pretend the phone has a delay….

My sons TV is broken, a well known fault but luckily he has insurance. Unluckily we already used the insurance to cover the repairs to our own identical TV which had the same fault. After the last time, we did not swap the backs of the TV's back ie the serial numbers back so this morning I spend an hour on the floor swapping the backs of two 48” plasma TV’s. with my foot raised up on two cushions. 2pm, the repair guy comes and pulls out the offending power supply, he looks at the original power supply that he is supposed to have repaired three months ago but has never actually seen before. Gosh he says, you cant tell I repaired this I must be really good. I am not sure if this is deadpan humour or if he actually thinks his surface mount soldering skills are that good. He must be Glaswegian. Only they can do such quality sarcasm.

I should be working on bids and tenders but instead am playing with the website http://www.mybrokenleg.com/. Nice people all supporting each other and many making me feel very humble. I honestly thought that my breaks were at least a straight flush and then I read some of that site and find I'm only holding a pair of deuces. Some of the one liners are classic. "I was standing in my bedroom when my leg fell off" Thank you Harley girl, you made my day and I mean that in a good way.

Out of curiosity I did some more searching. Apparently someone took out http://www.mybrokenarm.com/ but frankly most of them just get on with life so it never took off, it's the broken leg crowd who have too much time on their hands. I also found a site called http://www.mybrokenneck.com/ It really exists but whoever owns it has been too poorly to actually build the site. It must take forever to creat a web site blowing down a straw.

Anyway In a nutshell, I am a lucky man, I know it, you should believe it and the only cure is laughter. I am particularily lucky for having a great wife and wonderful family and freinds who know when to break rules. Basically my support system is the best and though I may not mention it much here, dont ever think I'm not appreciative. I do think my excuse for "What happened to your leg......? "is lame though. I am currently trying out a few new ones, how does, "I fell off the stage playing air guitar at a Led Zepplin concert" sound, No? OK try this one, I was running with the bulls at pampalona when I was knocked to the ground and trampled by a crowd of Spanish women" mmmmm still need some work on this

Oh I before I forget, I needed a better signature for emails so I did a bit of hunting and found or modified these.

I think the vet one wins hands down in my book.

1. God said "Let there be light." But then the program crashed because he was trying to access the 'light' property of a NULL universe pointer
   



2. Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body leaving a tidy sum to the children, but rather to skid in sideways, martini in one hand, giant cigar in the other, body used up, worn out and screaming GERONIMO!!!
   



3. I'm not saying there should be capital punishment for stupidity but why don't we just take the safety labels off everything and let natural selection deal with the problem.
   



4. As she lay there dozing next to me, one voice inside my head kept saying, 'Relax, you're not the first doctor to sleep with one of his patients', but the another kept reminding me, "Chris, you're a vet"
   



5. Insanity is hereditary, you get it from your kids.I'd like to die like my granddad, peacefully in his sleep, not screaming like his passengers.
   



6. Growing old is obligatory, it's growing up thats optional

More as it comes
Chris







Chris