It's amazing how a big accident makes you unnecessarily anxious about normal things you used to do all the time, without even batting an eyelid. It's something that creeps up on you without you realising- until you find yourself out after dark for example, and suddenly freak out that you're going to turn into a pumpkin! Well, not exactly, but everything seemed a bit more scary or a bit unnerving. I’d got so used to being in the safety of my apartment and only leaving it to attend medical/ rehab appointments, as soon as I had a social engagement or was out after night falls, I’d start feeling panicky..
Quick- get home! Get back to the safety of your apartment where the risks and hazards of the outside world were dramatically reduced. It was a bit like Arnie yelling “Get to the Choppa!!” only it was “GET TO THE SCENTED CANDLES!!” and everything would be OK again.
To be fair to my pathetic feeling self, this was partly down to the fact I was now venturing out without Leggy the leg brace or my Porsche crutches. It did feel very exposing. There was nothing between me and a trolley ramming into my femur in an overcrowded Aldi. I needed to pull myself out of this frightened rabbit mindset I was slipping into and get back to being fun-loving, adventure-seeking Sophie, who was always going somewhere or doing something!
Step one of getting out of my comfort zone: drive further than a physio appointment! So, I took my friend up on their kind offer to visit them in the Lake District. Me and Pedro on a MOTORWAY! For several hours, doing several pitstops and having to concentrate on something other than my thigh bone for a bit. Normally I do this all the time, especially during race season, but when just getting from your living room to your bedroom felt like a marathon for so long, travelling so far from home made me proper anxious! What the hell has happened to me? I'm used to travelling all over the world- solo and loving it! Yet right now, no amount of sugar-free vanilla in my almond latte was helping me.
It was a beautiful day; clear and crisp. My playlist was on point, fuel tank full, spearmint polos to hand. Everything seemingly perfect, but at times I wanted to turn back. The weather forecast didn't help as heavy snow was threatened, which meant the danger risks skyrocketed for me, so I took my crutches with me as potential ice picks. I'm happy to say I made it there and back unscathed and a lovely time was had by all.
Phase two of getting out of fear-based comfort zone was joining a gym. As advised by physio Jeff, I needed to start weight training to strengthen my bones! I haven't been in a gym since 2019 and had been a big Yogi and walker since then, so the thought of roaming round a gym floor surrounded by clanging weights, grunting men and the smell of stale B.O was hardly lighting my fire. Not to mention all the super fit girls flaunting the latest Adanola sets, making treadmill running look easy while maintaining perfect hair and makeup… Quite frankly that made me feel like dog shit when I looked in the mirror! But I was doing this for my fabulous femur and rebuilding strength, so I needed to get over this ‘Gym-xiety’.
At first, I was hugely limited to what I could do (and still am): Treadmill walking speed Level 3. Cross-trainer and bike, then gradually incorporating leg press, leg curl and the disgusting leg extension machine. I got an off-peak membership so I could only go in the day when all the old people are there, and all the annoying teenagers would be at school. The grey brigade would probably think I was doing great! How wrong was I… most of these retired folk were fitter than I've ever been and would put the average person to shame! The old guy next to me on the bike was practically doing an imaginary Tour de France while I was next to him, struggling to get just one rotation of the pedals as my leg couldn't bend enough.
“Have you never been on one of these before?” He asked. Clearly seeing me struggling and assuming I did not know how to work a bike. It is pretty self-explanatory after all!
“Yeah mate, but I'm recovering from a broken femur so this is as fast as I can go!”
He then launched into telling me about how his wife broke her hip, and we were suddenly best of friends.
From that moment on I made the decision to always wear shorts at the gym- no matter how cold it was and no matter how tedious it is shaving my legs, narrowly avoiding my scar. At least this way everyone could see for themselves what was wrong with me, and maybe even stop to chat about how the hell it happened.
FYI: you won't EVER catch me in those horrendous ‘booty shorts’ that all the young girls are wearing with their arse cheeks fully out, as they saunter from one type of squat exercise to another. I really didn't know how they get away with it or how they became so confident. Or how I became such an old woman! But I really wish the youth of today would cover up a bit.
To this day I'm still painfully awkward in the gym but I’m working at it. I feel everybody's eyes boring into me from every direction, until I look around and realise they're all busy looking at themselves in the mirror- not me! Something else playing on my mind which I've not written about yet was this looming osteoporosis diagnosis… I found out just before Christmas that my Dexa scan (bone density) results were NOT good, and I was being referred to an endocrinologist to find out more and to what extent. (Yes, I had to google ‘Endocrinologist’ too).
I was fuming with the Angel of Doom receptionist who told me this potentially life-changing news over the phone and put the fear of God in me. Demanding I come in immediately so my GP could discuss it with me face to face. I was bricking it as anyone would be, given her lack of tactfulness and bedside manner.
Heading into that appointment felt like awaiting a death sentence. I had a whole list of questions to ask starting with: How bad is it? What's caused it to get this bad? Is this normal given my age? Am I going to die, and can I still book a skydive? TELL ME EVERYTHING!!!
I even took my God mum with me for moral support and to machine gun more questions in case I seized up and ran out of ammo. But my doctor wouldn't answer me anything. His response was “Let's get you to a specialist and take it from there.” That was after he lobbed a massive worry grenade at me that exploded in my face.
“You have Osteoporosis and Osteopenia.” Osteo-what now? And “my scoliosis complicates it...” How? Where? Why? So many questions, all met with “Let's just get you to a specialist and take it from there.”
So, he gave me a prescription for calci-chews and sent me on my way. He seemed more chilled than the receptionist about it, so I tried to put it to the back of my mind until my referral appointment.
I was LIVING for that appointment! Obsessively checking my mailbox, even receiving a letter teasing me saying they were ‘reviewing my referral’. What does that even mean? Are they deciding if I’m worthy or broken enough? I was desperate to know the full extent of my condition to start making progress and more to the point- make sure I wasn't doing anything that could be dangerous for me and end up killing myself. As you can imagine, my head fell off when I finally received a call back after eight weeks of waiting…
“We're sorry to tell you Miss Wright but the wait for your referral is going to be 61 weeks…”
61 weeks? There's only 52 weeks in a year! Imagine how much improvement I could make in a year, given the right treatment. OR imagine the deterioration that could take place if I don't!
I needed help and I needed answers, and it's looking like the only way to do that is to go private. And maybe hold off booking a skydive…
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