Unbreak my arm

The day after returning home I go to hospital for advice about my broken wrist.  I have more X-rays and see an Orthopaedic surgeon.

He says the bone is slightly misaligned.  I should have surgery to insert a plate and screw.  It's Friday afternoon.  He will add me to his list on Tuesday.

I ask him if I'll be able to travel to Brazil in a couple of months. He thinks it will be all right by then.

I need this surgery.  My arm isn't getting any better.  I can't do anything - not even unpack from our trip.

It will be painful, but at least it will be "forwards" pain that will move me towards recovery, not the pointless sideways, drifting, directionless pain I'm experiencing at the moment.

On Tuesday morning my husband takes me to the hospital and my mother arrives, as she lives across the road.

My room is spacious. I get into the bed and they conduct some tests on me, including an ECG because of my prior heart surgery.

During the afternoon I get sleepy and drift off. My mother returns, thinking I will have had the operation, but I'm still waiting and there is no news I can give her. She brings me a nice magazine about France.

Finally, in the evening, they come to let me know it's my turn. I have to walk down to theatre, wearing a hospital gown and robe, and little paper slippers.

The anaesthetist asks me what I'd like. I can have a general anaesthetic, or a block to my arm, or both. I don't think I'd like to have this done under only local anaesthetic. I opt for both.

She gives me an injection and continues to chat to me.  I lie quietly with my arms by my sides.  But when I look to the left, I am surprised to see my arm outstretched. They are removing the cast and I hadn't even noticed.

One of the nurses is Lisa, a friend of my sister.  It's lovely to see a familiar face.

Then the lights go out for me.

When I come to, I don't feel any pain. I remain in post-op for a while, then they take me back to my room, where my husband is waiting. He has brought flowers.  I drift off to sleep.

During the night I wake up.

I have no idea where I am.

Someone is gripping my right calf muscle with both hands.

My left arm has disappeared.

My foggy brain sets about unravelling these three mysteries. I take in the surrounds of my hospital room.  Around my lower legs are calf massagers; these auto-inflate like blood pressure cuffs, to stop blood clots from developing.  Finally, I locate my arm.  It is hanging up alongside my bed. They have folded a pillow slip lengthwise and pinned it to form a long, thin bag.  It now contains my elbow and forearm, is tied at the top and is hanging from a hook. My arm has no feeling at all. It's like a piece of meat hanging up to become dry aged beef.

I press the call bell and the nurse comes. I want to go to the toilet. She brings down my lifeless limb and passes to me, suggesting I support it at the forearm.  It's like a sausage that you would put under the door to keep out a cold draught.

Back in bed, with my dead arm hanging up once again, I'm awake and hungry. She brings me a cup of tea, a sandwich and a cake. I scoff the lot, then I turn on the television.

I come across a French movie and decide to watch it. A pregnant woman is a recovering drug addict. She is very beautiful, though - her appearance has not been ravaged by her addiction.  Her partner has died and she is now having a relationship with his brother.  He in turn is having a relationship with her male friend. She gives birth to a baby girl and the dead partner's brother comes to visit. She asks him for a cigarette, goes outside to smoke it, and keeps going. She gets on a train and leaves him to bring up his baby niece.

I'm glad I didn't pay to see this at the cinema.

Next morning, my arm still has no feeling. I tell this to the nurse, then:

"Hang on, I'm getting some tingling in the fingers"

She says "That's because I'm playing with them. Can you tell which one I'm touching?"

The hospital wants me to vacate my room. They want me to have a shower but I don't feel confident. I still have no control over my arm.

When the numbness goes, the pain kicks in. With a vengeance. I have had a metal contraption attached to my bones.  But the new bandage is lighter and more flexible than the plaster cast.

Finally I'm ready to go home. My mother arrives and signals to my uncle to bring his car around.

On the way home I drop in to the pharmacy and collect the pain relievers prescribed for me.

At least now I'm on the mend.

The show will go on.