Two weeks after my 4th operation I recommence physio. I have lost a bit of joint movement and my knee hurts like hell. I start doing my exercises again at home.
I have another OH appointment. £25 in taxi fares there and back. My employer will pick this up but it still stings. We agree at OH on how I will go back to work, but not when. This decision is for my GP. I have fixed a date in my mind that will bring me back much quicker than my team is expecting. Over the last few days I have felt a strong desire to start interfering. This is a good thing for me and a bad thing for those on the receiving end.
There is a debacle over my stitches. I turn up as requested at my GP's surgery to have my stitches removed. The practice nurse tugs and pulls, to no avail. The stitch ends break off in her forceps. She phones Ward 109. We wait ten minutes for the call back. The doctor with an unpronounceable surname suggests I head up to A and E so that he can have a look. I am appalled - I could be there for days. My uncle kindly gives me a lift.
I am seen by the doctor within 15 minutes - a model of efficiency. He prods and pulls and then calls the Registrar on his iPhone. For a moment I think he is going to photograph the offending article and send it through the Ethernet for a second opinion - but I am disappointed. They discuss the colour of the stitch. Then the verdict. My stitches are dissolvable - no need for removal. Fifteen minutes later I am home - my stitch ends trimmed. I can only pray that the verdict is correct.
On the eve of Workers Day I cast aside my moon boot and my tatty tubigrip. Under the supervision of my Physio I take tentative steps in my bare feet without my crutches. Strangely, walking backwards is easier than walking forwards. I have to practice this at home every day - although not having parallel bars at home is a bit of a disadvantage.
And a postscript. Remember Boris? Well, I had a lovely email from him recently inquiring after my mental desease (sic) and worrying about my lack of friends. Unfortunately I am not able to report on how he is getting on with his humanitarian endeavours or indeed his bee keeping.
I have another OH appointment. £25 in taxi fares there and back. My employer will pick this up but it still stings. We agree at OH on how I will go back to work, but not when. This decision is for my GP. I have fixed a date in my mind that will bring me back much quicker than my team is expecting. Over the last few days I have felt a strong desire to start interfering. This is a good thing for me and a bad thing for those on the receiving end.
There is a debacle over my stitches. I turn up as requested at my GP's surgery to have my stitches removed. The practice nurse tugs and pulls, to no avail. The stitch ends break off in her forceps. She phones Ward 109. We wait ten minutes for the call back. The doctor with an unpronounceable surname suggests I head up to A and E so that he can have a look. I am appalled - I could be there for days. My uncle kindly gives me a lift.
I am seen by the doctor within 15 minutes - a model of efficiency. He prods and pulls and then calls the Registrar on his iPhone. For a moment I think he is going to photograph the offending article and send it through the Ethernet for a second opinion - but I am disappointed. They discuss the colour of the stitch. Then the verdict. My stitches are dissolvable - no need for removal. Fifteen minutes later I am home - my stitch ends trimmed. I can only pray that the verdict is correct.
On the eve of Workers Day I cast aside my moon boot and my tatty tubigrip. Under the supervision of my Physio I take tentative steps in my bare feet without my crutches. Strangely, walking backwards is easier than walking forwards. I have to practice this at home every day - although not having parallel bars at home is a bit of a disadvantage.
And a postscript. Remember Boris? Well, I had a lovely email from him recently inquiring after my mental desease (sic) and worrying about my lack of friends. Unfortunately I am not able to report on how he is getting on with his humanitarian endeavours or indeed his bee keeping.
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