A pain in the wrist...

Hello and welcome,

Firstly, I honestly didn’t think I’d be writing my opening, and long-threatened, blog entry typing slowly with one hand with its partner in plaster but regrettably that’s the sad case. Not quite the glamorous image of my favourite fictional New York-based writer I had aspired to, but I’m hoping that some of my favourite non-fictional writers may have written their best works while recovering from some sort of accident. It’s an inspiring thought and I definitely need some inspiration right now...

So, the plaster. It’s been quite a calamitous start to the new decade. That lovely bit in between Christmas and New Year was spent with a busted boiler leading to no heating and hot water for 3 days. NY was seen in wonderfully with my boyfriend Alex in Falmouth, Cornwall and even when I developed flu-like symptoms on NY’s Day I thought I was immune to the January blues as we had such a brilliant time. A stinking cold was never going to get me down! Things were good! Silly pre-plaster me.

Back to work going well, I was certainly feeling blues-free on Wednesday night in frosty Walthamstow and looking forward to a night of rest, food and LOVEFiLM entertainment with lovely Alex. ‘Isn’t it slippery’ I thought to myself cheerfully, laughing as a group of child-free Mums threw snowballs at each other and feeling smug about walking in the road as others slipped on the pavement. Then, disaster. CRASH. One second up, the next down. There I was on the floor, the contents of my Boots bag dispensed everywhere. Feminine hygiene products of course; just to add to the joy.

Quick as a flash, a lovely man and his son hauled me up and got me on my feet. Shocked and with a very sore coccyx, I carried on homebound feeling stable and cautious. Then the dizziness started, I was finding it hard to breath and the snow was turning black before my eyes. Just...a...few...more...steps...and CRASH. On the floor again but this time making doubly sure I’d done some damage by landing on my wrist. Instinct normally kicks in when you’re wearing a leopard skin coat and laying in the road so I got up and crawled to a random doorstep and tried to stay conscious. Next thing I knew a stranger appeared by my side, found my trusted iPhone and helped me called Alex, whimpering at him to please come get me.

It’s all a bit hazy after this. Dash to A&E in a cab, waiting to be seen, a painful X-Ray and a distressing 45 minute wait for the results. Alex was amazing; kept me warm and comfortable and wrapped me in his West Ham scarf (sorry fellow CPFC fans, I was vulnerable and taken by surprise). ‘NICOLA GREENBROOK?’ was my booming cue to be seen by a Consultant who told me that the wrist was indeed broken and would need treatment. Ironically at that moment a boy outside the treatment room fainted on the floor. Yep, my thoughts exactly.

Consultant – Greek, scary, quite terse. My whimpering and severe teeth-chattering were definitely not welcome in his consulting room as he told me I could go under general anaesthetic and stay overnight or be under local and be in and out in an hour. No brainer really. ‘NOW, NI-COLA, ARE YOU GOING TO CO-OPERATE OR NOT? WELL?!’ he boomed. In my head I said ‘No, I’m going to make this as difficult for you as I possibly can, ha ha, cause I’m REALLY LOVING THIS PAIN, you t**t!’ but instead I barely whispered ‘yes’.

Next, re-set hell. Wrist was only mildly numb and I wanted to shout ‘I can still feel pain!!’ but instead accepted the offer of laughing gas (I’m not laughing) and inhaled around 12 times –leaving me absolutely off my face. A good thing really, as
Nicer Consultant pulled my upper arm back with all his strength while Scary Consultant pulled the broken wrist back into place and Alex stroked my head. I fainted twice, thankfully. I came to with a big wail and heard Nicer Consultant say ‘she is clearly calcium-deficient’ to which I groggily responded ‘vegetarian, actually’ and cried. As my plaster was applied the Consultants had a nice old chat about mindless animal cruelty and sport and ignored me when I quietly contributed ‘bullfighting’ as an example. Bastards. Sob.

After 2 very uncomfortable sleeps, I went back today to the delightful and clearly-signposted Fracture Clinic with its professional and helpful staff (sarcasm eases the pain) to be told wrist is recovering excellently, but have to go back in 1 week’s time for another X-Ray and re-cast, with said cast on for 4-6 weeks.

It’s my personal hell. Diary commitments cancelled, including very exciting trip to Amsterdam to see lovely travelling buddy (sorry Lauren, will make it up to you) and now I really do have the January blues. I am being a hideous patient as I hate being inactive, unproductive, and reliant on others to shower, dress me and put on my shoes and I’m dreading the next few weeks. In turn, Alex is being an angel, more amazing than ever and I am incredibly grateful. This must be hard for him too.

If anything, it’s a humbling experience and has made me realise how very lucky I am to be in reasonably good health and that this is a temporary experience. I’ve convinced myself this is Karma for moaning and thinking the grass is greener recently, but that’s another blog for another time.
It’s quite astonishing that in 31 rather clumsy years, including hiking the Inca Trail, climbing a few New Zealand and UK mountains and jumping out of a plane in Oz, the first time I break a bone is walking home from sodding work, 5 minutes from home.

So on Day 2 of my Sentence, it’s just me, my plaster and my laptop with the Foo Fighters in the background watching the snow and ice. Bitterly I may add. Winter Wonderland? I’m over the snow. Timely, a Topshop Style Notes email has just popped into my inbox declaring ‘Spring is on its way’!’ Can’t come bloody soon enough - I have an itch under my plaster.

Nx