There have been many unexpected experiences and curveballs during this recovery process, and they're continuing to this day. At this point it feels like life just enjoys throwing stuff at me. As I pride myself on being a positive person, let's start with the good bits before we get to the bad and the ugly...
I was feeling like some kind of local celebrity whenever I went out in public, crutching down my local village High Street to get to one of my many appointments or simply just coffee. Wherever I went, people would open doors for me, give up their seats for me or even beep their horns while hanging out their car windows, shouting “You're doing great! Keep going!” Like one lady did.
“Do you know her?” Asked dad, looking truly baffled.
“No!” I laughed. But I was so grateful for any supportive heckles! Parents would yank their snotty whining kids out of the way, much to my delight, and I could literally stop traffic just by waiting to cross the road. (If that was you who let me cross, despite me yelling “Are you sure? I'm a bit slow!” I thank you for your patience!)
Everyone had time to talk to you, staring in awe and sometimes horror at the bionic looking leg brace and go “Oh wow, what did you do?” Or simply say- “ACL??”
“No mate, broken femur!”
“Blimey, how did you do that?”- was always the next question.
I loved telling the story, but it would often make me late for things.
It honestly felt like everyone had my back. Apart from those certain miserable and entitled old ladies who won't move out of the way for ANYONE. (You know the type) But I resisted the urge to say- “You're more able bodied than me right now love!”
So apart from the misery guts Margaret’s of the world, this was all really positive! All really good. What was not so good? The burning, swelling sensation in my scar…
I probably should have rung the doctor sooner, but I was busy! Busy trying to get from A to B, getting up and down my stairs or stopping to chat to people. Or having a driving experience day with a Porsche Taycan (obvs!) Sadly I couldn't drive it myself in this state but I took along my good friend Karl as my chauffeur and carer. Even just meeting the rest of the group at the Stockport dealership was thrilling. To stand around chatting about our cars, sipping coffee, surrounded by these beautiful machines while waiting for our safety briefing. I’d missed being around cars so much! Cars and dogs. As I can't have either of those in my apartment unfortunately.
Once we were assigned our cars or ‘rocket ships’ I should say, and casually tossed the keys, we set off in a convoy over to the Peak District. I was gutted to be missing out on 750 brake horsepower under my right foot, but I enjoyed being a passenger and having my stomach repeatedly left behind nonetheless. It was a good distraction from the burning pain in my leg. So was the incredible 3 course lunch put on for us at such a fancy hotel!
I got a bit brave after my post-surgery fillet steaks and stupidly ordered the Chicken Supreme. If I can handle a steak I could handle a chicken breast, right?! WRONG. Very wrong…
I nearly vomited everywhere when it arrived with its skin on and a massive bone sticking up out of it! I never send food back to the kitchen as they more than likely spit on it, so I basically asked them to remove the offending skin and bones, and essentially cut up my food for me as though I were a child. Karl was laughing smugly from the safety of his mushroom risotto, and I can't say I blame him. I suddenly felt like I was making very BAD life decisions. I probably should go back to my pescatarian ways and more than probably should be at the doctors right now getting my scar checked out, rather than playing out in Porsche’s.
(Can you blame me though? Huge thank you to Porsche Stockport for the invite. I had a ball!)
Once home the pain was getting really bad, and I doubt it was the effects of the G-force from the turbo S. My scar was rallying the troops, getting ready to launch an attack on me and I wouldn't find out till the morning.
8:00am- fastest finger first- ring the surgery! Boom!
“You are caller number... above 30 in the queue..”
HOW?! It's 12 seconds past opening! So I waited, and managed to get an emergency appointment with a nurse for a ‘wound check’. In what some might say “divine timing”- my scar erupted once I climbed onto the examination bed. Oozing over my fancy leg brace and freaking me out more than the Chicken Supreme.
What's happened!? WHY was it doing this??! After much humming and hah-ing, the nurse called a doctor in for more humming and hah-ing. It looked to them like some of my internal stitches hadn't dissolved properly and my body was now trying to force them out with no success. Hence it growing increasingly hotter, angrier and oozier. (Apologies if you're eating right now. But not if it's Chicken Supreme. Then it's on you.)
“I'm half inclined to just try and dig it out!” Exclaimed the doctor, who seemed weirdly excited like she'd be digging for treasure. I just looked at her with despair. This was my leg. I'm not sure I like the thought of people digging in it. Those surgeons in Kent had done me proud with such a neat job on this scar. I'd rather not have someone go in and mess that up!
“Actually, that might be a little gung-ho of me…” she smiled. NO SHIT!
“I tell you what, let's just blast you with antibiotics and give it a week, and it'll probably work its way out anyway.” She continued. “They'll make you a bit constipated and make everything taste of metal but they should do the trick!” she smiled.
Lovely. So, they sent me on my way all bandaged up, unable to get my dressing wet for a week, and feeling well and truly deflated. This meant I'd have to cancel hydrotherapy, have all good bacteria killed off in my body and have my progress temporarily halted. Boo! I cast my mind back to a couple of weeks and I remember having a piece of wire sticking out of my knee which I was told would simply fall off. It's no longer there now so I’m guessing it did, so even something as bizarre as that was yet another unexpected experience. Since when does someone look down at their knee and go “Jee, look at that wire poking out of my leg. That's normal! No worries about that!”?!
Weirdly that wasn't the area that's now infected, so once again, nothing made sense in my world.
I still couldn't bend my leg past 30° and the swelling from the infection was making it even harder. Physio Jeff was really concerned. An infection in my leg near this much metal work could be so dangerous. Catastrophic if it spreads around the metal and would mean I'd have to have it taken out and have the whole operation done again! Or worse, if left untreated, I lose my leg. HOLY CRAP.
I was barely sleeping due to the pain and now the sheer terror, and I wish the GP practise were as concerned as Jeff was. He’s seen this first hand with so many of his clients and things can turn very bad, very quickly. I went back to the docs the following week and this time a different nurse whipped the bandage off and told me-
“Yeah it looks fine, just keep an eye on it…”
If that's her definition of ‘looks fine’, I dread to think what her definition of ‘looks bad’ was. Fine. I would go home and keep an eye. I made an album on my iPhone called Scars, photographing it every day in all its inflamed glory, to track its healing progress or in this case, watching it rear its ugly head again…
omg girl, I don't even want to think about it, I have the same operation, only I have 3 scars, two smaller and one larger. I had no problems with them, they healed well. It's already been 4 months since the operation, I can flex my leg, I can kneel, but I'm left with a pain that is left on the ball of my leg. I finished the recovery exercises but I still continue to do them alone at home. I recommend looking for exercises on tiktok, they helped me a lot.