Bloomers and Tats

I am getting a bit bored now with it all, not so much being injured and hobbling about, but having to explain to the curious the reason behind it. 

Regular readers will have a detailed knowledge of how I fell into that hole and tore my right leg quad muscle all of, yes, four months ago. 

I have written a few words on a regular basis covering my pre- and post-operative experiences ranging from the first six weeks of non-weight bearing existence (sounds a bit like being in zero gravity but far from it) to the saga of my epic beard growth and tentative movement on crutches to the gradual allowance on clinical advice of progressive degrees of flex on the leg brace that has been a constant hanger-on for 90 percent of the time. 

As of last week I have been allowed to take off the brace. 

In more than just a physical way I had become attached to it as an essential support, a companion and a very good conversation opener with the aforementioned curious section of the general public. 

It is now dumped in a hospital laundry bag, so much for my emotional connection with it for I am unfettered in the right leg department and have, as they say, the scar to prove it. 

The procedure to re-attach my tendon to the knee cap was of a type quite popular for short films on You Tube although I am not really sure for whom such graphic detail is posted for, whether trainee surgeons or amateur enthusiasts. The latter description sends a chill down my spine but then again it would explain how a lot of those who remarked on my leg brace and latterly my scar seemed to have a good knowledge of what will have been necessary in the operating theatre to assist me back to mobility. 

The scar, from just above and to the mid point of my knee, has been spotted by a lot of senior ladies. 

It is the same profile as a scar for a knee replacement and you would be surprised how the perceived shared experience releases the inhibitions of older women so as to lead them to hitch up their skirts or legs of their slacks and proudly show off their own war wounds. 

I have found this a bit unsettling particularly as I thought I had long escaped the social situation where “show me yours and I’ll show you mine” was a good chat up line behind the bike sheds or under the stage at the school disco. 

Some of the old dears are shameless as the lifting of the hem of a summer skirt also displays that bloomers are back in fashion. I hear half of you say “bloomers- what are they” and the rest assuring me that in fact they never went out of fashion. 

Living in a maritime port town I am well used to seeing tattoos on exposed flesh but there is something quite startling about an over 70 year old lady having an ankle and leg up to the thigh adorned with a traditional blue ink image of a bluebird or garland of red roses. 

Then again, they were young and impulsive once weren’t they. 

So, what stage of recuperation am I at currently? 

The knee joint remains stubbornly resistant to anything more than a 75 degree bend even with four daily sessions of exercises given to me by the physiotherapist. It is strange sensation as though pushing against an immoveable object. I am trying hard to push the angle a bit further each time but progress will certainly be on a millimetre by millimetre basis. 

My hospital issue crutches are close to hand for those unsteady moments but I am determined to get down to just a walking stick soon. 

As for motoring, well, I can just about manoeuvre myself into the driving seat of my car but cannot move my foot easily between accelerator and brake. It will be a bit longer until I am independently mobile. 

I do have a sense of my prolonged recovery period coming to an end. 

As I said, I am ready to get back to work and perhaps enjoy some summer weather beyond the confines of a borrowed wheelchair in the back yard of home.