THE HOMECOMING QUEEN!

I'm not one to ‘count their chickens before they hatch’ as the saying goes, and I try not to jinx stuff by racing too far ahead. That said, I've already got a Lamborghini, Ferrari and G-Wagon in the garage of my mind. So when the day came for them supposedly discharging me, I decided I’d believe it when I see it. Especially as I'd witnessed the misfortune of my cubicle neighbours on their discharge days. They had waited all day with their little bag packed, only to be told at 4:00 PM “Sorry, we can't get you an ambulance.” Or “Your medications aren’t ready.” I wasn't holding my breath. I did have A LOT of stuff to take home with me though, and I'm not just talking about the bag of injections I had to jab in my stomach for the next 41 nights.

The occupational therapist had sorted me out a load of kit such as a zimmer frame, crutches, perching stool, toilet frame and even my own commode to help me once I got back to my apartment. Shame they couldn't have sorted me out a 6ft 4" muscly, tattooed boyfriend to carry me up the stairs, but I’ll just have to manage without. And accept the fact all this kit is going to DESTROY my apartment aesthetic. The inside of my cubicle curtains looked like the oddest selection for a jumble sale ever, between all this and the many bags I'd accumulated over my time here. Because breaking my femur wasn't in my plans, I was originally going to spend a few days down in London with my uncle after the final at Brands Hatch. I had my suitcase of overpacked clobber, as well as my Grid girl bag and many others I’d gathered while in hospital: Gifts and epic snacks brought for me by kind visitors.

“Come on you! Hurry up, get ready!” Bantered nurse Harvey, who was in fact being serious.

“Are they actually going to discharge me though?” I moaned with little faith.

“Yes! They're just getting the ambulance ready now. Come on, get dressed. You can't go in your hospital gown!”

Wow! I hadn't even finished scribbling on my eyebrows! Then it hit me- what was I going to wear? I came in here in my Grid girl uniform which I was barbarically cut out of when I was rushed into A&E, before surgery and the initial X-rays and MRI scans. I didn't have any kind of dress/ skirt thing with me that would fit over my herculean sized leg brace. And I definitely wasn't going to chop up any of my nice London clothes… Then I remembered- Super Steph had saved the day once again, when she bought me a large set of black pyjamas which I was able to hack the left leg off with a pair of blunt hospital scissors. Homecoming outfit sorted! And no danger of me flashing myself to anyone!

Next minute, a whole team of paramedics and nurses arrived to begin taking all my stuff downstairs. They were all so lovely and as I introduced myself and tried to learn all their names (all of which began with a K) one of them blurts out:

“Wait! I know you! I've seen you in the paper! Oh I know all about you and how you did this- falling off that pit wall at Brands Hatch! Sounded nasty that!”

“No way- that was you?” Said another.

“Hold on- I don't know about any of this,” said the only guy in the group.

“SHE’S FAMOUS!” Blurted out the first one. At which point, Freda opposite whips out her phone and starts filming me getting strapped to a stretcher, to probably send to her grandkids captioning it “Look! Here's that girl from the papers who broke her femur at Brands Hatch!”… to which I'm sure they'll reply: “Who the hell is that Gran?”

This was hilarious! So, I'm not known for my book, my presenting, my DJing or past radio shows- I'm now “the girl who fell off the pit wall at Brands”. Great. Stepped down- not fell, might I add. Misjudging how far away the ground was. But I digress.

As a fun momento and a way of saying ‘Sophie/ Team BMW woz ‘ere!’ without using any graffiti- I left my BMW T-shirt lay on the pillow, stretched out as though my body had simply evaporated out of it.

While waiting for the poor staff to do multiple trips back and forth to the ambulance, along many corridors and in lifts with all my many bags and invalid kit, one of them gave me an iPad to fill out a short patient feedback questionnaire. I gave them full marks on everything as there wasn't a box to put how annoying Jan was, or how terrifying Lesley was. There was however, a box for ‘what could we improve'? In which I simply put “FOOD!” and “Please add avocado to the menu.”

Then before I knew it, they were tightening the buckles across my body, grabbing my 3 remaining bags in their hands and unclipping the brakes on my stretcher. I was on the move!

“Bye Sophie! All the best! Good luck with your recovery!” everybody waved- smiling at me from both sides of the ward and Freda panning her camera round to capture what she thinks is a Z-list celebrity getting wheeled to freedom. But I felt every inch the movie star as everyone was shaking my hand, wishing me well, as my four-strong entourage escorted me while carrying all my stuff.

Carrie (genuinely her name) was walking in front of me, doing the doors, Kerrie and Karen loaded with bags, and Kingsley pulling my suitcase while pushing me.

I got a bit carried away when I was down in the entrance area and was still waving at every passerby and shouting “Byeee everyone! All the best! I’M GOING HOOMMMEEE!” Even though none of them were from my ward and they were probably thinking “Why are they letting her out? She's clearly mental.”

When the final set of doors to the outside world opened and ACTUAL FRESH AIR hit my skin, I could’ve cried with happiness. Then almost cried when I saw a dead pigeon on the floor which my ambulance had clearly just run over. I hope that wasn't a bad omen… Well, that could’ve been me at Brands Hatch, so maybe I got off lightly?!

As exciting as this all was, (dead birds aside) my first breath of non-hospital air and making one-legged pyjamas an acceptable fashion choice, a looming sense of fear was creeping in. I was going to be out on my own…

In the real world. No longer in the safety of a hospital environment, and if anything was to go horribly wrong, there weren’t multiple nurses or doctors at my beckon call! And there wouldn't be every kind of apparatus imaginable at my fingertips to make my life easier. It almost felt like nothing could go wrong while in hospital. Unless a fellow patient loses their mind and storms your cubicle as I experienced. But maybe that's why some of these people never want to leave? You have everything done for you and don't really have to worry about a thing. Other than your own thoughts or managing your own pain or boredom. They were ‘serial hospital stayers’- like serial daters maybe.

I had to have a word with myself! You are NOT one of those people Sophie! Yes, there were many more risks involved now being at home: a hazardous amount of scented candles around the place for one, and no 'fun button' if the pain got really bad. But I had to try to stamp out the fear in my head. I was soon snapped out of this worry cycle by an exasperated paramedic who'd been back and forth fetching all my invalid kit.

“It won't all fit in the ambulance!” They barked. “You've got too much stuff, and you're picking up another passenger on your way back to Manchester, so we've got to consider their stretcher and what bags or belongings they may have too…”

Another passenger? Interesting. Well let's hope they're nice, travel light and don't have COVID! Were the first thoughts that entered my head.

“OK- no worries. What's the last thing to go in that won't fit?” I called from my stretcher, unable to turn round.

“The commode.”

“That's fine! Let's sacrifice the commode!” I smiled. Partly relieved I wouldn't have to have a glorified potty in my bedroom, but also dreading now having to hop to the loo for a blurry eyed wee at 3:00 in the morning.

I said my thank yous and goodbyes to the staff staying at the hospital and resigned myself to the fact I'd be travelling BACKWARDS for the next five hours in the back of a bumpy ambulance, tightly strapped to a stretcher, with every road bump and pothole vibrating and jarring through my broken femur. Yes. It really would be as uncomfortable as it sounds. But hey- anything to get me home at this rate! The first stop would be to a nearby hospital to pick up my accompanying passenger. Maybe this will be the start of a great friendship? A real bonding experience if nothing else. I lived in hope. Sadly, things didn't really go according to plan...