Tuesday, 6 November 2012

Hurty Wrist Fans...I Have News & More Pics!!!

It's been nearly two weeks since the good lady surgeon Sweeney Todd sliced and diced my broken appendage. It was time then for a return visit to the Fracture Clinic on the promise of more growing old slowly in reception. I started my journey with what I thought was ample time to make the short bus trip up the road to the hospital. What I hadn't bargained on was the near Biblical traffic jam on the A6. I was convinced that the non-movingness could only have been caused by something which would make everyone in Stockport simaltaneously jump into their cars. I pondered what it might be and the openning of a MegaPoundShop with free hog roast, beer and bouncy castle for the kids where the Stone Roses were putting on a free gig leapt to mind, but it turns out the council are just fannying around with the road near Stepping Hill. I've seen evolution move faster. 
Amazingly, I arrived only a few minutes late. I've just no idea why it mattered so much for me to be there on time. I knew what was coming and I'd brought my travel pillow, ration pack, a change of clothes and the complete works of Tolstoy in readiness. Actually it was more browniness but it doesn't matter, I was here for the long haul and sure enough the NHS didn't disappoint. 
To maximise the experience, the reception is a complete wifi dead spot. Surfing the t'internet was painfully slow but I'd downloaded several games to keep me amused and sure enough the first forty minutes just flew by. 
On minute number forty one I was summoned by one of the old deers behind the desk. At last, progress! alas, not. She ordered me to the X-ray reception with 'a note' and a smile that made Stalin look like Ronald McDonald. I was looking down her half moon barrels at yet another yawn fest but I didn't mind, it was a change of scenery.
I wandered up the corridor and passed over my note. After confirming my name, rank, and serial number I parked my arse on yet another fart stained piece of moulded plastic the NHS call 'a chair'. Surprisingly I didn't have to wait too long before my name was called, but don't worry, there was enough time for Commandant Deirdre to mandate my mobile be changed to a not-on position. Cow. 
After I was zapped I was dispatched back to the Fracture Clinic reception for more waiting where the phone went straight back on and the ether evaporated faster. Eventually it was something resembling my name that was belted out across reception in the key of bored flat. We were knocking on an hour and twenty but this was now my time with what appeared to be the only actual professional in the hospital that day. It was time to go into one of the little rooms and see what damage had been undone. The X-rays came up on the screen and with my good hand I began snapping pics left, right and centre and then left again because the flash wasn't on.
As the images were explained, a nurse began to cut off the old plaster. The operation had in fact gone perfectly,(dear diary), and all looked good. The screw holding my scaphoid together was doing its job.

Now available at ScrewFix

One other injury I wasn't fully aware of was the acute perilunate dislocation variant. The fix for this and my wayward radius is the insertion of two metal rawplug people. I have named them Bert and Ernie. 
Can you tell me how to get to Seaseme Street?

When the plaster came off I noticed that my wrist had shrunk in diameter. This freaked me out somewhat but apparently if you don't use something at all for three weeks it gets smaller. This is a generic statement that applies to every part of me.

Chick! Please form an orderly digging queue.
After my five minutes were up I returned to reception to get a new plaster. By this time I was the only person left but I still had to take a ticket and wait my turn for the plasterer. It seemed a bit frivolous but I'm not one to break protocol, (just bones). I still had to wait but the end to this visit was finally in sight. My plaster master was a guy called Tony. He was judge gypsum - the dressing director. We got yapping and I asked him how many casts he'd made. He stopped trying to work it out when he got to 170,000. Now that's job satisfaction.....or just mental, I haven't quite worked it out. Either way, he'd clearly done this before. 
                                         Behold!.....I wish I could!!
After encasing me for my third time in as many weeks I was free to leave. In four weeks I would be back to have it off with power tools, (sorry for the mental image), how exciting! What wasn't exciting was the journey home. The traffic was still jammed. I've seen tectonic plates shift quicker. Fortunately I did get home where apon the family atteneded to me with benevolence and compassion. They put up a brave front by pretending absolutely nothing important had just happened. That must have been hard for them. The kids knew that a sense of normality and familiarity would relax me and with that in mind jumped on me with the same gusto and vigor as if my arm wasn't in plaster at all. Sometimes I think they care too much. 

To be cont'd.....in four weeks.