Up and over, over and out

I have written quite regularly (too much some may say) on my recuperation after an accident in April this year when I had the misfortune to fall down a hole. 

The bodily contortion arising ruptured the quad tendon of my right leg. 

After an operation to re-attach it I had three or so months of wearing a leg brace, avoiding any weight bearing and hobbling about on crutches, my very own Zimmer Frame or a borrowed wheelchair. 

Recovery was slow, mainly through my adherence to the medical advice of rest which was and still is, to anyone who knows me, my least favourite activity in life. 

My subsequent progress towards movement of my knee and muscles could be measured in increments of degrees. 

Previous blogs were about reaching personal goals of 15, 30 and 45 degrees and what that involved in terms of effort and pain. 

I have recently reached 85 degrees although that psychological milestone of a right angle of bend remains elusive. 

One major development was a return to driving and this heralded my resumption of employment and being useful to my work colleagues out on the road rather than just a house-desk-bound depository where requests for research or advice could be directed. 

I have been fully back to a daily workload now for about six weeks although I still rely on one crutch and an agonisingly slow progress up steps and stairs in the properties that I have to inspect and report upon. 

The homeowners I come across are either;

1) nervous and fussy around me showing an intense interest in how I came to have an injury or

2) cautious and politically correct in not making enquiries about my condition in case it is degenerative or inherited and being nosey would be intrusive and embarrassing. 

There has been further improvement on a daily basis. 

I can now take up the driving position without causing a jam if the drivers door is fully opened into the traffic as my leg can swing easily in and over. 

I have walked a bit more without having to seek relief from mobility aids. 

Staircases are gradually easier but you would not think that there could be so many different gradients, depth of treads, heights of risers and varieties of bannister and handrail across the UK housing stock. 

The original contributor to my accident of a loose unstable surface dressing over that bloody hole, is remarkably popular as a dressing to domestic gardens and paths but I am much  more confident on tackling it, with the benefit of my experience. 

As for the job requirement of scaling ladders to investigate the structural and miscellaneous contents of a loft space well, I surprise myself at my dexterity and bravery, This is mainly in having to trust a built in loft ladder which may have been installed by an idiot but that fact may not be apparent until I am half way or more up it. My own ladders are sturdy and reliable and I have no second thoughts about dragging my sorry body up them at least five or six times in a typical working day. 

So, as you can see I gauge my recuperation through attaining small and achievable targets. 

I did have an unexpected bonus just today which gave me more happiness than all of the aforementioned. 

The door to my integral garage is a brute of a metal thing. It operates on an electric power motor which sounds about ready to explode with the straining effort of each activation. If arriving by car a small remote control, usually stowed away in the coin or ashtray, does the business on the approach to the driveway. Then, after walking through to the internal door to the house the door can be closed using a conventional rocker type switch. 

Leaving the house requires the reverse operation but with a mad running dash needed to get under the closing door after pressing the switch. 

If left slightly late the run has to change into an impression of a limbo dancer to reach the outside before the hefty door snaps shut. It was unfortunate that a family friend decided to go back into the garage after I had started closing it and he split open his nose on the leading edge as it came down. I have also come close to scalping myself after misjudging the projection of the door mechanism on just such a running exit. This saw the tying of a football flag onto the catch as a warning about its sharp edges. 

Back to this morning. 

I had a crazy notion to, for the first time in six months, try to leave the garage using the able bodied method as described above. 

It would be a definitely risky activity given my restricted movement. 

The threshold from the house hallway to the lower concrete floor level of the garage has been a constant obstacle during my recovery. In fact on my return home from the hospital operation way back in April I thought that I would have to live and exist in the garage as I could just not negotiate that step level. 

The distance from power switch to the freedom of the driveway was only about 4 metres but allowing for my ambling walk and possible trip and stumble risk from over-excitement it might as well have been four miles. 

I hesitated at the thought of coming a cropper but then just went for it. 

Time went into slo-mo as I pushed the switch and launched from my bad leg into the increasing gloom of the garage bay . The door grudgingly and noisily began to swing down. Small rubber encased wheels followed the upper tracking as the motor propelled them along and the large, enamel finished spring coils creaked and groaned in sympathy. 

I made reasonable time over the ground but still felt the brush of cold steel on my bald patch as I just made it into the great outdoors. 

It was disappointing that none of my family had been witness to this achievement but then again, if anyone had been capturing it on film and everything had gone pear-shaped and belly up then it would have been just a step too far.

As for the achievement- I likened it in my own mind to winning the 100 metres sprint at an Olympic Games in just breasting the line ahead of the combined talents of  Bolt, Lewis, Owens and the rest.