ARE YOU DRUNK?!

“The majority of people are good...” That's the way I choose to see the world. It makes the it seem a far less scary place and I firmly believe it to be true. Most people are good, we just only hear about the bad ones! This is why I choose not to watch the news and as a result, I only attract good people into my life, (so I believe.) Unless they’re those difficult family members who I can't escape. Sadly, I can't turn them off like the news. But think about it- when I jumped off that pit wall and snapped my thigh, EVERYBODY rushed to my rescue! The only ones that didn't were the ones who threw up a bit in their mouths at the sight of my bone poking out and had to walk away. Or the ones lifting their trophies on the podium, just on the other side of the pit wall. So, we'll let them off!

This is a pattern I’ve seen continuing when I’ve been going about my life in the real world. Not my ability to make people vomit, but people's willingness to help. It's truly restored my faith in humanity! The amount of doors held open for me, chairs given up, smiles received and the lovely conversations that followed. But all that changed once I ditched the leg brace and went back to using one crutch as a compromise. Orthopaedic doctor’s orders! All of a sudden I was just a girl with a limp, and no cool story to tell. I'd been doing a few short walks wearing ‘Leggy the leg brace’ and no crutches, and I was OK with that! Leggy’s bionic look screamed for attention, subliminally yelling “I’ve got a story to tell! Go on- ask her how she did it!” And people did. Everyone had time to chat and hear the tale of ‘Femur- gate’. People would leap out of your way, staring at the brace, then up at me and ask what happened. Do I need a hand?  “Take your time!” or simply “You're doing great!” But I noticed this stopped when I went braceless in public…

It was like I became invisible. Despite my jazzy crutch adorned with Porsche stickers. No one would make eye contact with me, they'd look away in the opposite direction, narrowly avoiding walking into lampposts as they'd much rather that than look at the defected girl with the crutch! And if anyone did lock eyes with me, I was met with looks of sheer pity as if to say “Oh dear, poor girl.” - “Oh bless, there must be something wrong with her.”

No one would let me pass anymore, they'd all speed up to try and overtake me in a narrowing space. Quick! Get past the limper- she’ll hold you up! Nobody cared what was wrong with me. They didn't want to know. They didn't want to help. Where did all the good people go? Did Leggy the leg brace really hold the superpower of making the world a better place? Right now, he was laid on the floor in the spare room while I decided what to do with him.

After a week of single-crutching I’d had enough. I felt I limped more leaning on a crutch than without, and was sick of being viewed as an invalid, instead of a Badass with a bionic brace. So, me being me, I started walking without it. No crutch, no brace and going very VERY slowly. Sticking to the quiet roads by my apartment which I used as my walking practise runway. This was fine until I hit uneven ground or needed to nip into the big Sainsbury's, which I often do. Just go slowly Sophie! Let everyone pass you. Everyone- overtake! But I was getting some very strange looks… NOW WHAT?!

Then it suddenly hit me: people thought I was drunk. I was struggling to walk in a straight line due to the weakness and fatigue in my leg. I was swaying all over the place down the aisles, looking for my favourite jar of pesto, wearing my giant long coat and bobble hat, looking every inch the homeless stoner at 2:00 PM on a Tuesday. Oh God. I don't know what's worse. One crutch? No crutch? Or looking like I've had a full-on breakdown by the broccoli.

I called an Uber home. Partly out of embarrassment and partly out of sheer exhaustion.

There was a time and a place for walking in slow motion though, and that was hydrotherapy! Now the infected scar had ‘done one’ as we say in Manchester, I was able to get back in the pool. And this time it was free! That's right folks- I was given 6 free NHS hydrotherapy sessions because quite frankly, they’re concerned at how my leg isn't bending. Ermm you and me both! I'd been banging on about this for weeks. Anyway, here we are; back in a hotter than average pool, wearing my inappropriate Miami bikini. Only this time I covered it up with an old baggy t-shirt, which turned out to be a TERRIBLE idea as it weighed a flipping tonne when I got out of the water. I really enjoyed my sessions though. Catherine, Matt and the whole hydro team were great and didn't let me drown. I bought them bags of Haribo on my final session as a thank you, like on your last day of school.

I was getting used to moving annoyingly slowly but crossing roads was still a big problem. I couldn't do that awkward little run when a car was coming, so I'd wait for the biggest gap ever. Unfortunately, sometimes I'd misjudge it entirely; stepping out in faith then quickly realising I wasn't going to make it. I couldn't speed up, the rapidly approaching car would have to slow right down, and I look like the biggest arsehole EVER as I sauntered across the road painfully slowly, as if I was saying a massive ‘FUCK YOU!’ and raising my middle finger to their faces. I felt so bad! I never wanted to be seen as one of those people. But if I go back to my mantra that ‘most people are good’, maybe they wouldn't wish ill on me for holding them up. I haven't been run over yet so this must be true.

Certainly, the people I was liaising with at the Warrington based mobility centre were good people. They go roaming around in their van collecting and dispensing donated mobility kit! After a few phone calls to arrange, they agreed to take my no longer needed Zimmer frame, toilet frame and perching stool to a loving new home. I'd keep hold of Leggy the leg brace for now, as I may go back to him like a toxic ex-boyfriend. Same with my crutches.

Because it's literally a full-time job attending all these leg appointments, naturally I was out when they were due to pick up my kit. I stacked it all neatly in the hallway outside my door and instructed them to buzz my neighbour to let them in the building. That all worked fine until I had the biggest brain fart of my life while (you guessed it) attempting to cross a road! I was in the middle of the tarmac when my phone rang and was distracted by a man on the other side, who was wearing an eye patch and started shouting at me like he knew me…

“Not today One-eyed Willie!” I thought to myself.

“I'm here to pick up the Dalmatians!” Said the broken-up voice on the end of the phone.

“Dalmatians? I don't have any Dalmatians! Or any dogs for that matter.” I said, frenziedly trying but failing to walk away quickly from the one-eyed man.

“No- I'm here for the Dalmatians!” He said again. After much unnecessary to-ing and fro-ing, we established he was picking up the donations. The invalid kit. Well, I'm glad we cleared that up! Sure enough, they were gone from the hallway when I arrived home. Result!

I learned a lot that day: That most people ARE good. I'm probably a bit deaf from DJing. Don’t try to multitask when crossing a road, and don’t talk to pirates.