A Tuesday afternoon six weeks after the last operation. Yes, time for another visit to ODP 6. I wonder whether to go. For the first time since my accident I have a day off sick that is not related to the truck, I have a stinking horrible cold. But if I don't go it may be very difficult to get another appointment. I swallow some ibuprofen and stagger out.
In the old days I used to get there on time. And then wait. And wait. And wait. Now I am becoming more cunning. Today I take a bus that might (according to the timetable) get me there on time. Of course it doesn't. As expected. I am a respectable 15 minutes late. No sooner have I sat down, then I'm whisked up to the Green Waiting Room. (The colour of the waiting room is important but that's a story for another time). Another minute and its into the consultant's office.
A two minute conversation, then its off for an x-ray (the radiographer is rather unprofessionally startled by my graft) - and back to the office. He shows me the x-rays. Astonishing. Almost everything has healed. Except for a small gap in the fibula. Which doesn't matter apparently. We discuss future function (this is orthopedic speak for "Please doctor, will I be able to hill walk again?)
He doesn't commit. Notes that I will probably develop arthritis in my ankle (I daren't ask when) and that I should crack on with my physio and come back to see him in a year. A year? A year! And if I need to see him before hand, if I want anything else removed (I daren't ask what), I should just give him a call. I think that he is saying there is still a whole year in which to make more progress. A week may be a long time in politics, but it is a nano second in orthopedics....
In the old days I used to get there on time. And then wait. And wait. And wait. Now I am becoming more cunning. Today I take a bus that might (according to the timetable) get me there on time. Of course it doesn't. As expected. I am a respectable 15 minutes late. No sooner have I sat down, then I'm whisked up to the Green Waiting Room. (The colour of the waiting room is important but that's a story for another time). Another minute and its into the consultant's office.
A two minute conversation, then its off for an x-ray (the radiographer is rather unprofessionally startled by my graft) - and back to the office. He shows me the x-rays. Astonishing. Almost everything has healed. Except for a small gap in the fibula. Which doesn't matter apparently. We discuss future function (this is orthopedic speak for "Please doctor, will I be able to hill walk again?)
He doesn't commit. Notes that I will probably develop arthritis in my ankle (I daren't ask when) and that I should crack on with my physio and come back to see him in a year. A year? A year! And if I need to see him before hand, if I want anything else removed (I daren't ask what), I should just give him a call. I think that he is saying there is still a whole year in which to make more progress. A week may be a long time in politics, but it is a nano second in orthopedics....
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