Back to Normal

For the first time in four months I have been able to, on my own, pull on a pair of socks. 

That is progress. 

Add to that feat the fact that they followed on from wrestling on a clean pair of boxer shorts, formal trousers, freshly ironed white shirt, wedding tie and suit jacket. I even dug out from the back of the cupboard the business shoes in which, all of those weeks ago, I lost my footing and ruptured my quad tendon. 

I do not blame their smooth leather soles for my tumble as I still believe that even had I been wearing climber’s crampons and a safety rope the ground would still have shifted under me. 

Yes, today was my long overdue return to full time work. 

The thought of this day which has been a dominant one for quite a few weeks now has given me palpitations and great anticipation in equal measure. I felt a strange set of emotions this morning partly reminiscent of the end of the summer holidays when I was a kid and partly that feeling when you wake up on your birthday. The key factor to my return has been the ability to drive and this has only been possible in the last few days as my repaired leg has yielded enough to allow my right foot to differentiate between the accelerator and brake in touch and pressure. 

The sight of me actually getting behind the steering wheel is something to behold and no doubt has caused some alarm to the general public where this has been acted out in a supermarket car park or on the street side. 

It involves throwing in my good, left leg and then carefully transferring my body weight from upper arms to bottom across the two front car seats whilst manoeuvring the tender right over the door ledge.

I can envisage a good citizen contacting the authorities over my performance particularly if they have also witnessed me putting my crutches on the back seat along with the shopping bags. I would not blame them as I have seen very similar behaviour on those benefit fraud documentaries.

As coincidence would have it my first appointment was in the very town where the accident befell me and I had to pick up a key to the empty property from the Estate Agents who had also been selling the original place. It seems that, through the grapevine, they had heard that I had broken my leg and were very sympathetic. I did not ask if my client at that time, an elderly lady had progressed to purchasing the house. In my many hours of recuperation I had genuine fears for her on that sloping, slippery site as she went about putting out the bins or dead-heading the roses.

I have been extremely cautious in these latter weeks of recovery not to aggravate my repaired tendon from a simple trip, stumble or twist and so I was filled with trepidation upon seeing the address of my my first job. An old bungalow up a rough potholed track. 

In fact I soon realised that it was not so much, as the estate agents brochure stated "A hidden Gem" but a cross between an assault course and a maze. 

Over the course of the next two hours I had to cope with uneven block paving, unhelpful gates, loose laid pathways, unkempt crazy paving, a partly dismantled rockery, snaking tree roots, wonky manhole covers, stray power cables, unprotected pond, concealed divots in the lawn, a variation in stepped levels, low slung tree boughs, prickly hedges, adverse cambers on green lichen covered slabs, what could be elephant traps concealed by twig and leaf debris and dark shady passages between sheds and a greenhouse.In fact, in that domestic environment there was just about everything apart from old mine workings, sink holes and long lost tribes. Oh, I forgot. The painted concrete gnome in the flower bed was looking at me in a belligerent way.

That was even before I actually entered the bungalow itself where there were more hazards of rucked up carpets, dislodged floor tiles, shiny ceramics, an open tread staircase with no handrail, laminate surfaces, split level bathroom floor and not to mention potential asbestos and lead paint residues just lurking beneath the finishes. 

It was certainly a stern test for me and I can honestly say that I was mightily relieved to get back to the car afterwards. As per normal procedure for vacant, isolated properties I rang my office so that they could stand down the rescue services. As I started to drive off I caught a brief glimpse at the street end of the local ambulance that, four months earlier had taken me to the General Hospital. Perhaps that very helpful crew were hoping to have an opportunity to cut off the other leg of what used to be my number one business suit.

So, as it is said, "back to normal"