It may come as a surprise to some of you, but I can't actually swim. Despite being an active/ outdoorsy type and obsessed with California culture. “I don't do communal water!” is what I usually say. I love being by water or on water though. Relaxing on a beach or by a lake. On a boat or even better- a yacht! Frolicking in the ocean up to my waist... Mother Nature's communal water is OK. As for hot tubs, hmm… it really is like having a bath with your mates, so it would depend who I was in it with. So far this phobia of having my head submerged in water or my inability to float has never held me back in life. If heaven forbid, I was drowning, I've always believed I'd be rescued by the man of my dreams! I still do. And I weirdly look forward to that moment, providing I don't actually die. That said- I couldn't see any of this happening in an 8:00am hydrotherapy session in Handforth.
The day before it I had my second session with physio master Jeff. It was six weeks to the day since my surgery, the point where I was told I could begin attempting to weight bear. How much, how often or just how, I did not know, as no one at hospital had given me any guidance on that. Heck- I was still waiting for them to supply me with a physio! Thank God I was already working with one and not just sat around at home waiting for my NHS referral, not knowing how or if to exercise my leg.
(On the subject waiting- I was still yet to have a visit from an occupational therapist to ‘assess my needs’ at home. As I write this in February 2024 I am STILL waiting, but I digress.)
After meticulously following the doctor's advice of “no weight bearing for six weeks”- I was very much in a “THE FLOOR IS LAVA!” mentality when it came to my leg. Even putting my tip toes on the floor for balance as allowed felt like the most dangerous, naughty thing in the world! I needed to snap out of that, and I definitely couldn't have done it without Jeff’s help and guidance.
So here we go… I was stood up on my crutches at the end of my appointment, hovering that left foot nervously over the floor, knowing I had to take that first step, but everything in me still screaming “THE FLOOR IS LAVA!”
I had my crutches either side of me acting like stabilisers on a bike. I placed my foot down on the floor and it felt like an apprehensive eternity before I eventually shifted some weight through it. I felt a rush of blood through my leg and what little muscle I had left light up! I stared at it, shifted a little more weight into it and gasped. It was down! My foot was on the floor and I was standing on it!!! I felt relief. I felt scared. I felt euphoric. I felt a sudden rush of emotion as my eyes burned with tears and I looked up at Jeff with the biggest ugly-crying smile on my face. Then I blurted out-
“It's like biting into the greatest sandwich EVER!!”
I'm not sure why as I'm more of a sushi person, but there was something so deliciously satisfying about it, it was the first thing that came to my mind. OK, so it did feel like my leg was going to completely crumble underneath me and I immediately wanted to shift back to the safety of my right foot but still, I was standing! And feeling such gratitude that my leg appeared to still be the same length as the other one! One of the many things I’d been told could go wrong in surgery and might not be ‘quite right’ about me in future. So far so good!
I headed home with new homework set. That being: LEARN TO WALK AGAIN. Literally. This is something I bet you think you'll never have to do as an adult. I can't remember doing it as a toddler but according to my parents I wasted no time and was doing it at seven months. Terrifying for them, but exciting for me! Much the same for anyone watching me climb a Pit wall in future.
That night I celebrated with a trip to Sainsbury's. I crutched down some aisles and tried to put my foot down a bit on others. It still felt incredibly daunting and the most exhausting thing ever, but I'd do it to get to the sushi counter at the end of aisle 5. After an early night as let's face it, I was knackered- I was up at the crack of dawn to don my swimwear and be driven to hydrotherapy. I had successfully done my first steps on land so let's see what I could achieve in the water…
It did feel rather odd putting on a bikini at 7:00 am in the middle of Manchester’s winter and as the only time this usually happens is abroad, I had no choice but to dig out my shimmery Miami bikini, as I had no other appropriate swimwear. Hydrotherapy coach Becky will think I'm mental. (Correct!)
To save me the horror of attempting the gym stairs, they brought me in via the fire escape and I was instantly poolside. I felt very Celeb-y, like when they bring artists into venues through similar routes. I changed in the poolside cubical, unclipping my enormous leg brace and emerged in my shiny outfit and even shinier stickered crutches. I clinged on to Becky for dear life down the slope into the pool, unable to take my crutches in the water, obviously. No leg brace, no crutches and virtually no clothes! But once I was in the water, I was fine. I felt almost normal! What an incredible feeling! The water was twice as hot as the normal pool so that felt amazing for all the stiff, cold metal in my leg. And the fact I physically couldn't fall over gave me a safe feeling I hadn't felt in weeks. Apart from the risk of drowning. But I quickly realised that was highly unlikely as Becky wouldn't let that happen, and the water only went up to my boobs.
I was walking up and down that pool experimenting with various inflatables, floats and weights- I was loving life! It was almost like a very relaxed pool party, minus the music, alcohol and people. (So no, nothing like a pool party really, but that's where my mind went.)
The loving life feeling stopped immediately when I came to get out and attempt to dress myself. You go from feeling weightless to feeling like you weigh an absolute tonne, and I struggled to even lift my arms. Also, choosing to put leggings on afterwards was a very BAD idea, and I probably spent longer trying to do that than I did in the entire hydro session. I'll know better for next week. And maybe invest in some more practical swimwear too.
Despite being shattered (which was my current daily state at the moment, because it's bloody hard work regrowing a bone!) I still practised my walking round the living room. Alongside watching Disney's A Little Mermaid. Right now, I identified most as Ariel when she learned to use her legs for the first time. I was a bit concerned though. Not about the Sea Witch Ursula putting a potential curse on me, but about my scar.
An area of it was looking increasingly red and rather angry. Jeff and Becky noticed this first and told me to keep an eye on it, so I had been. While obsessively rubbing Bio oil into it hoping it’d calm down. But fast forward a couple of days and it was getting angrier and hotter and puffier. There was something brewing in my leg, and it was definitely not part of the recovery plan…
