Wednesday, 27 February 2013

The further adventures of Scaphoid and the Hurty Wrist!

A quick recap: First there was this.

Then this.

And then a bit of this.

 Well, the good news is that my scaphoid is now one again. The titanium screw that once bound the two halves together is now superfluous like the list of ingredients on the back of Findus Beef meal. The bad news is that it’s still not on speaking terms with the lunate bone next to it. My scaphoid is moving and with its new sense of freedom, is on a mission to explore the world and 'find itself'. The ligament that holds the two bones together is being stretched to almost Spanish Inquisition levels thanks to my scaphoid and its new found hippy mantra. A CT scan revealed nothing obviously nasty but the only way to know for sure is to open me up again. Last time that happened there were power tools and screws made from exotic metals. This time there will be arthroscopic wizardry through two 1.9mm holes. One hole will have a camera on a chopstick while the other will carry the tools required. If all looks ok then the ligament will just be cleaned (debridement) to speed up the healing and reign the little blighter back in. The more probable outcome is that my wayward bone will have its gap year cut short. This could mean a whacking great pin holding everything together like a bone kebab, or a cheeky lasso will be constructed from bits of me. This cowboy surgery would involve removing the screw and passing the lasso through the hole before reattaching it to the lunate. Afterwards we would all sit round a campfire and eat beans.
Before any of this can happen I needed a pre-op assessment to make sure I was fit enough. One look at me should have told them that but they insisted on asking me some questions. I was dispatched with my notes to the “Magnolia Suite”. Trades description would have a field day as it is neither magnolia or suite. I would have gone for "Lavender Drab". Fortunately I didn't have to wait very long, I didn't even have time for a proper game of “guess your illness”. I was taken into a room where vital stats were recorded and yet another nurse asked for my phone number under the ruse that she would need it to let me know when the operation was. Being pestered by nympho nurses is something you get used to when you’re as gorgeous as me…..and you've broken something. My height, blood pressure and sub60 BPM pulse were all confirmed as awesome but then came probably the most scariest part. 
I had to be weighed!!! 
It is essential that an accurate weight be obtained in order for the knocker-outer lady to work out how much sleepy juice to administer. A plaster cast, erratic exercise regime, bad weather and Christmas had each taken their toll and my winter coat was still very much evident. Just like the mirror at home, the scales didn't lie. Since my failed argument with gravity last October I have stacked on an extra stone and a bit, and trying to ignore it was like trying to pretend the drunk, sky high fruit loop in the Post Office queue wasn't there.

Over an epic lunch of crisps, chocolate and cake I have decided it’s time to commence “Operation: Put The Fork Down”. If I am to regain my honed athletic physique I must conquer Professor Biscuits in his secret under ground base, otherwise known as “the jar in the kitchen cupboard”. Time and time again he has returned despite numerous attempts to drown him and eat him in boiling hot tea or coffee. This time, his fete will be sealed in the belly of two more fearsome creatures that will tear Professor Biscuits and his army limb from limb in a psychotic armageddon of baked chocolatety loveliness. Behold the minions of which I speak!


With a tail wind my next blog will be post-op and I'll have some lovely new scars for the chicks to dig! Heck, I might even be lighter....

1 comment:

  1. They weigh you now if you go with an earache. Over the counter remedies so much better.