Christmas and new year passed with snow, ice, champagne and not a single fall. A visit to a French ski field (without the skis of course) was a harsh lesson in 'look what I can't do (yet)'.
But it was also a victory in 'look where I can go now'. Walking on snow. Jumping into a moving gondola. Climbing up the icy steps to the restaurant. Not being run over by an errant snow boarder... Strolling to the next village.
Walking round Geneva for five hours, with its $500,000 watches and the International Red Cross Museum (what an extraordinary combination) was a lesson that lasted nearly a week. Ill nae do that again...
Safely back in Scotland, to my disappointment, there is no letter from St Johns. Ten weeks after the clinic appointment. I ring the waiting times manager and leave a message. Astonishingly, he rings me back. Polite, helpful and generous with his time.
It seems that, unusually, my plastic surgeon operates on Fridays. As Christmas and new year fell on Fridays, two operating days were lost. Then there was the snow. And emergencies. And he has to take some leave this year because he didn't get much last year. There are new HEAT targets, but its not clear which operations they apply to (presumably not cosmetic surgery to improve my ego and help me get a pair of boots on) . And suddenly Houston, we have a problem.
Would I consider going to the Golden Jubilee in Glasgow? I am reassured that I would still have the same consultant. Of course I say (ever helpful). Without asking where it actually is. Or how I am going to get to the other side of Glasgow for 7am. (Later I discover it is near the Erskine Bridge. Getting there will be one thing. Getting back post anesthetic will be something else indeed).
So. The waiting list manager knows who I am. He will speak to my consultant about the Golden Jubilee. But I do not have my appointment. Which means I cannot plan. Anything. Any time in February, March or April. No theatre tickets. No gigs. No holidays. No major work events. I am in a waiting list limbo. With an Erskine Bridge logistics puzzle. And a physio regime that suddenly requires gym equipment rather than a couple of ankle weights at home. This, it seems, is the nature of rehab. Just when you have mastered the exercise regime and the time and motion practices required to make it happen, a whole new thing has to be developed, learnt, and built into one's life. Is this manageable? Of course. I think of Haiti. And I crack on.
But it was also a victory in 'look where I can go now'. Walking on snow. Jumping into a moving gondola. Climbing up the icy steps to the restaurant. Not being run over by an errant snow boarder... Strolling to the next village.
Walking round Geneva for five hours, with its $500,000 watches and the International Red Cross Museum (what an extraordinary combination) was a lesson that lasted nearly a week. Ill nae do that again...
Safely back in Scotland, to my disappointment, there is no letter from St Johns. Ten weeks after the clinic appointment. I ring the waiting times manager and leave a message. Astonishingly, he rings me back. Polite, helpful and generous with his time.
It seems that, unusually, my plastic surgeon operates on Fridays. As Christmas and new year fell on Fridays, two operating days were lost. Then there was the snow. And emergencies. And he has to take some leave this year because he didn't get much last year. There are new HEAT targets, but its not clear which operations they apply to (presumably not cosmetic surgery to improve my ego and help me get a pair of boots on) . And suddenly Houston, we have a problem.
Would I consider going to the Golden Jubilee in Glasgow? I am reassured that I would still have the same consultant. Of course I say (ever helpful). Without asking where it actually is. Or how I am going to get to the other side of Glasgow for 7am. (Later I discover it is near the Erskine Bridge. Getting there will be one thing. Getting back post anesthetic will be something else indeed).
So. The waiting list manager knows who I am. He will speak to my consultant about the Golden Jubilee. But I do not have my appointment. Which means I cannot plan. Anything. Any time in February, March or April. No theatre tickets. No gigs. No holidays. No major work events. I am in a waiting list limbo. With an Erskine Bridge logistics puzzle. And a physio regime that suddenly requires gym equipment rather than a couple of ankle weights at home. This, it seems, is the nature of rehab. Just when you have mastered the exercise regime and the time and motion practices required to make it happen, a whole new thing has to be developed, learnt, and built into one's life. Is this manageable? Of course. I think of Haiti. And I crack on.
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