THE FUN BUTTON! AND FREE PUBLICITY...

Do you ever wake up in the mornings and have to piece your life back together after a deep sleep or vivid dream? “Was that real?”- “Where am I?”- “Who am I??!” Maybe sometimes you wish you could go back there and slip into that lucid state again. But waking up from a general anaesthetic and having your leg put back together complete with numerous pins and plates as souvenirs, hit differently. I've no idea how long I was out for but apparently it was a while and surgery took hours. I blinked my eyes open and had the biggest sense of WHERE THE HELL AM I?! I couldn't remember a thing. Not even any dreams I might’ve had that would have featured the handsome anaesthetist. I'd not even felt anything despite being physically sliced open, having my bone rebuilt, tendons and muscles rearranged, then sewn back up again. Pretty incredible really!

As my eyes adjusted it suddenly got painfully bright and noisy and there were so many nurses around me.

“Hi.” I croaked.

“Welcome back Sophie.” One of the nurses said.

I looked down at my leg, relieved at how much straighter it was and that my foot was no longer at such a severe right angle, but confused at where my cast had gone. I wasn't in one! I was heavily bandaged and swollen, looking like an obese Egyptian mummy with a massive black splint strapped tightly round my leg.

“How did it go?’ I asked nervously.

“Well, it took a lot longer than anticipated but it went well.”

I hope that meant they just took extra time doing an excellent job, and didn't mean there were complications like a tonne of internal bleeding...

Once my team of nurses assembled, they started wheeling me and all my various drips back up to the ward. I didn't even realise I had a tube across my face and up my nose, or that someone had drawn an X on my left foot with a sharpie to indicate which leg they should be operating on. Surely that would be hard to get wrong?! Delirious, I arrived back to my cubicle and broke into a massive smile as Paul and Steph were there waiting for me. They'd been waiting for me for hours! Along with everyone at the end of the phone on WhatsApp or Instagram. Paul did a quick video to let everyone know I was back and I began to reel off a thank you speech like I was at the Oscars.

I was then introduced to what I called “The FUN Button”!

When I’d click it, it’d give me a shot of morphine straight into my arm through one of the many drips going into me. Amazing! Although I was soon to learn it made you completely wiped out and queasy. The other drip was pumping me with antibiotics, so I didn't get sepsis and die.

I was still coming back to life after the anaesthetic and still in a world of pain despite the fun button, but other than that I was reasonably OK. Until two very sweet looking nurses came to me, trying to give me something not so sweet: A laxative, followed by an injection in my stomach. I'm sorry- WHAT?! WHY?!

“Because all the medication will make you constipated and you're highly susceptible to blood clots after surgery, so the laxative and injection are to hopefully stop that from happening.”

“A needle in my stomach?” I shrieked. “I can't handle that! Speak to him- he does this kind of thing for fun!” As I pointed at Paul, suddenly realising I'd portrayed him as a crack addict rather than a diabetic.

“And the laxative... Do I reeeally have to?!” I wined.

I much prefer a natural approach and would’ve preferred some probiotics instead, but I accepted that the outcome if I declined to take both of these things would not be fun: constipation and a blood clot. OK, enough said. I reluctantly agreed and before I had chance to psych myself up and do some affirmations, they jabbed me in the stomach! It was only a small needle but weirdly the pain got worse in the moments afterwards. It burned! Aaarggh. I then necked the laxative in the little shot glass which for someone who doesn't drink, felt all wrong anyway.

After all that I closed my eyes and passed out after so much excitement. Or should I say trauma? I tried to sleep in between my two hourly check-ups but at 1:30 in the morning, random people started messaging me saying “I'd made the paper.” What? Why? Sure enough, there I was in The Daily Star:

GORGEOUS GRID GIRL TAKEN TO HOSPITAL AFTER FALLING OFF PITWALL CELEBRATING RACE WIN!” -and loads of pictures of me they'd lifted off Instagram. Am I news now? This was hilarious! Then various other newspapers followed with similar articles; The Sun, The Daily Express, Kent Online, all joining in. ‘Any publicity is good publicity’ so they say, and this actually worked in my favour as every article made it known that I was in fact a Presenter, Writer and DJ. Not just someone who snaps thigh bones climbing down off walls!

So, I was grateful for that. And the fact they all called me ‘gorgeous’ or ‘glamorous’ when that was the last thing I felt like while weeing on a bedpan.

The Sun took it a bit far though, scrolling way back on my Instagram, finding a rare picture of me in a bikini when I was in Miami over a year ago. An image totally unrelated to the article but hey, would we really expect anything less from those guys?

The next morning I got to experience my first hospital breakfast. First up was a needle jabbed in the back of my hand for a blood test, followed by a choice of cereal, toast or porridge that resembled wallpaper paste. No eggs or fruit then? No protein or nutrients? Heck no! I opted for bran flakes which I ate dry as they didn't have any non-dairy milk. If I could walk I would’ve nipped to Costa downstairs!

More excitement followed (genuinely this time) when physio Grace appeared with a Zimmer frame for me…

“Right Sophie, we're going to get you standing up on this frame.” Wow, OK- but isn't this a bit premature?? Apparently not. I'm not one to be easily defeated so I was definitely going to give it a go, despite still being in agony and woozy from all the drugs and concerned I might break the other leg. They gave me an extra shot of morphine to get me there and soon I was stood up. Fully vertical, leaning on my zimmer!

“Zimm Zimmer! Who got the keys to my bimmer!” I sang in my head.

I hopped along on my good leg towards the entrance of the ward. Freda and Gastric band lady cheered me on, and I felt so proud! Then Jan started fake crying & wailing, saying no one cared about her.

Being upright was great but it was incredibly tiring, and my leg felt like it was made of lead. Or heaviest thing I've ever tried to carry, yet it was attached to me. I started going really faint and they managed to get me to a chair by my bedside. They checked my blood pressure and it had plummeted. I had the biggest head rush and had to eat some chocolate. Not all bad I guess! Apart from Jan moaning loudly behind my curtain: “That young girl with the bad leg has seen more people in 2 days than I’ve seen in two weeks! It isn’t fair.”

I appreciate the ‘Young girl’ bit Jan, but this isn’t a popularity contest. I’ve had major surgery- you haven’t. I’m nice to the nurses- you’re not. I actually want to get out of here and back home, whereas you seem to really enjoy it here and treat this like some kind of weird hotel experience. And you really like the chicken nuggets.

By the time evening came and my cubicle neighbours were snoring, I reflected on Day 1 post-surgery: I'd met The Fun Button. I’d hopped towards the door on a frame with my oversized hospital gown flapping, feeling like a superhero in slow motion, followed by blood pressure checks, M&S food deliveries from friends, more morphine, the shot of laxative, the injection in my stomach and swallowed numerous pills. It was all in a days work!

Wow. I wonder what they'll have me doing tomorrow?! Hopefully it’d involve a visit from a doctor as I would quite like to know how my operation went and exactly how much metal work is in my leg. Or if I’ll beep going through an airport.

I settled down feeling proud with what I'd accomplished, but I was blissfully unaware what was about to follow the next morning…