Room at the Top

You will recall that I fell down a hole. 

For those who do not know the story it was a case of losing my footing on a loose scree type surface causing my right leg to fold under my body in a painful and muscle rupturing movement. 

That was nearly 6 weeks ago now. I do count myself fortunate in that the injury has been operable and I am recovering at home with the support and sympathy of my family and friends to call upon.

This episode has made me realise that I am not a very good patient particularly so under the restrictions of no weight bearing and impeded mobility as a consequence of doctor’s orders. 

I took for granted the ability to go anywhere and do anything in connection with my wide ranging daily workload and during my own time. My job involves a lot of travelling by car, typically four to five hours of accumulative driving every day plus up and down ladders, stairs and in and out of properties. 

In my leisure time I am usually on the two wheels of a mountain or road bike venturing far and wide throughout the beautiful East Yorkshire countryside. In between there is plenty to do running errands and doing my share of domestic chores. 

In such an active life, a very pleasureable and rewarding existence indeed, I can honestly say at the end of each day that I feel as though I have done as much as I possibly can in my little part of the world. 

That was the situation up until six weeks ago. 

You would not believe the change in my lifestyle that a simple and frankly, embarrassing fall has imposed. 

I want for nothing in my period of convalescence and this facilitates strict adherence to the post-operative plan. Furthermore I am not taking any risks that might prolong or complicate my recovery. My mobility depends on crutches and a walking frame and so I am not inclined to venture any further than I need between my sleeping bed, day rest room and the bathroom, all on the same top floor of the house. 

Kind offers from friends to take me out for a coffee or be pushed around the local park in my borrowed wheelchair I have gracefully declined as such things scare me. I have actually only been out of the house once in the last three weeks and that was for a hospital appointment. That was pretty exhausting. So, unfettered access to the great outdoors has been denied but willingly for the duration. 

The decision not to tackle the many stairs in the house was a difficult one particularly as they lead to the interesting and entertaining elements of a busy family life , being the living room TV, the fridge in the kitchen and my ground floor study. 

My days are spent in a room recently decorated and furnished to accommodate visitors and guests at the back of the house. It is south facing and on bright April and early May days the passage of the sun makes for almost geometric shapes on the inner wall. 

My good leg, the left one, gets a brief exposure to warming sunlight but the heavily braced and propped up right misses out on any vitamin boosting effect even though there is only a matter of centimetres separating the limbs. 

The bed position does not give me a good line of sight, in fact I have just about counted all of the stretcher bond bricks on the projecting wall of the adjoining house. I can however through the always open window hear the noises of the neighbourhood and these now being familiar are easily recognised whereas in the first days of my respite they were either confusing or alarming. 

The characteristics that go with the opening of a garage door I can now pinpoint to a specific property. 

There is a slight but identifying difference to the rotating wheels on the upright waste bins and the velocity by which their owners put them out for collection. 

I can also visualise the size and fur markings of each of the local population of cats from the sounds of play or aggression even though I have not see them since the mishap.

The low resonance of quacking announces the arrival of a family of ducks to feed on bread crusts left by a householder on the roof of lock up outbuildings in the next street. 

If the wind is in the right direction, a southerly, I can catch the distinctive sounds of the distant railway line or the rare booming of a ships horn from the city waterfront. 

There are regular fly-pasts of commercial aircraft making for the regional airport and the air sea rescue helicopter is certainly a regular visitor to the landing pad at the city infirmary. 

My elevated room is also a great sounding box to catch the conversation of neighbours and users of the service road below but that makes for a whole future series of stories and musings. 

We have a huge tree at the back of the house and I can judge the prevailing weather from the amount of noise from the movement of its elasticated boughs and new season’s foliage. 

I have also enjoyed, on the occasion of the infrequent home games of our city’s Premier League football team, trying to work out what a burst of crowd noise from the stadium means. On the most recent match day the wind-borne sounds from about a mile away suggested a trouncing of the visiting team but the final score was only 2-0. 

In spite of the fully built up inner city surroundings in which our family house is situated it can also be the quietest and most tranquil location as though the entire population has upped and left voluntarily or disappeared in true sci-fi fashion.

By far the nicest noises are those from my family on the floors below my day room as they go about their own lives. My imposed convalescence has impacted on them as well and they are reluctant to leave me for too long without enquiring whether I need anything or if I am in any discomfort. 

It will be a long recovery but I am determined to do my part. 

Six weeks down, only a few more to go now.