Tag Archives: surgery

Making up for Lost Time

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I came late to a fitness watch. But at some point in the last two years- long, long after everyone else had adopted them, I requested one for a birthday or a Christmas gift and Husband duly obliged.

Up until then, the very idea of a little bracelet attached to my wrist that assumed superiority and authority over my every movement brought about a bristling denial. I didn’t want to be monitored for each step I took, each staircase I ascended. I didn’t need to be informed of ‘how I had slept’. I knew this already. Having ‘slept for England’ as a younger woman [to use Husband’s phrase] I’ve become, in my later years, a poor sleeper. I’ll fall asleep with ease during TV programmes in the late evening, stagger off to clean my teeth and be wide awake for the next two or three hours. I’ll read, listen to podcasts, compose stories in my head [and forget them by morning] then eventually drift off in the small hours. Still, I thought I’d give it a chance to chart my sleep journey…that is until its unaccustomed presence on my wrist became yet another impediment to slumber.

So no, a fitness watch would be neither necessary nor desirable, I felt. But what made me begin to change my mind was being able to tell the time. A fitness watch has a clear, readable screen with a digital display. As with all the other bits of me, the eyes are wearing out, making reading my extremely pretty, conventional watch altogether pointless. I was tired of rooting around for my phone every time I needed to know what time it was.

I could probably have solved the problem by getting a cheap, digital watch, except that I had a yen to be brought up to date with a little technology. I’d mellowed a bit in my attitude to fitness watches. What harm could it do? I was a regular exerciser. I walked, cycled, did Pilates and dance exercise classes. I got the watch and caught up with contemporary technology circles.

Soon after this, mishap struck in the form of more body decadence. Something began to hurt. Dance exercise had to cease [a source of great frustration and grief]. I got x-rayed by the NHS to no avail. No- there was nothing wrong. A gushing radiologist informed me, grinning triumphantly, that I had not fractured my hip- er…not something I was expecting to have happened, actually…

Meanwhile, activity came to a standstill. I lolled about. Sometimes I limped about, distance I could travel on foot having shrunk to house and garden confines.

Stuck, we turned to private medicine, discovering that my arthritic hip joint did not show on any x-ray or scan but was afflicted. I could still cycle on a static bike and now, since I couldn’t walk to the gym, got one for home. After months of indolence I needed to get fitter and sleeker for major surgery.

Once I’d been furnished with a new, stainless steel and titanium hip joint, I began on the road to recovery, tough at first then easier as the days passed.

Now the little fitness watch came into its own! It tracked my walks- room sized to begin with then round the block on 2 crutches, extending on. It is, I feel, a tyrant, reminding me to move after I’ve sunk gratefully into a chair following a four mile walk. It comes late to the party, buzzing to tell me ‘Walk detected!’ after half a mile. It says I’ve still got several thousand steps to do today [10,000 steps is still quite a tall order at only 6 weeks post op].

The consultant has signed me off and we’ll be setting off in the van quite soon now. Husband will be taking his new bike but at the moment I’m still only allowed to walk, which is sad but SO much better than not moving at all. So maybe the little watch is my friend after all…

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com

The Return

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Here we are- much, much sooner than we ever expected, out in our van. Not far, of course- only a stone’s throw from home, in the New Forest, one of the UK’s historic, iconic national parks. Here there are all manner of wonderful treasures: huge, ancient, English oaks plus all our other native trees, heaths with purple heather, ponds and lakes, many species of birds, lizards, insects and other creatures, wild, roaming ponies, cows, donkeys and pigs. There are picturesque villages and small towns, like Lyndhurst, historic centres like Bucklers Hard, wildlife sanctuaries, open farms. And of course- campsites.

This site, at Ashurst, is next to both a pub and a railway station, which is beyond handy! Husband has brought his bike, since the forest trails and wonderful, but my bike must, for now, remain in our garage. I’m not allowed to cycle…yet. But I am, now, able to walk, and this I intend to do.

We’re experiencing our fifth heatwave this summer here in the south of the UK and have been officially in drought for weeks. When we arrive to site, we search for a shady spot, selecting a place under the shade of a large oak. Next to us, a group of families with tents and caravans sets up, Tents, I feel, will be very hot indeed. The assorted children ride their bikes round in little convoys in time-honoured fashion. Later there’s a small gang of them sitting under the oak tree enjoying the shade and the tree itself.

The shade works well for us. In the evening we sit outside to eat and as we do, an ominous, billowing cloud begins to appear- brownish purple in colour and with shreds of blackened vegetation landing on the table. This is not a rain cloud.

In the forest, not too close to us but present, a fire is taking hold. It’s not a worry for us because we can move very quickly and we know we’ll be warned if necessary.

Next morning we realise there’s a snag with parking in this shady spot. There’s no electric hook-up at Ashurst site and we need all the sunlight we can get for our solar panel to charge the leisure batteries and keep our fridge, lights etc going. We opt to move into the open. It’s hot, yes, but not unbearable under the awning. I set off to walk around the site, which, after several open areas, plunges back into dense woodland and it’s lovely, deep shade. Far at the back, beyond a small footbridge which would have spanned a stream, there’s a boggy area which may have been a pond as it’s green and muddy.

I keep going- along the back of the site, up and round, There are one or two solitary walkers like me and a couple of cyclists. There is much evidence of fallen trees although, on the whole the trees, bracken and vegetation seem to be surviving. Even the brambles are offering up some acceptable blackberries in places.

Around a bend I join a tarmac road, the site and residents sharing it for a distance. But it’s less shady and I turn right across the woods to return to site, pleased to have walked a mile and a half- my longest distance since major surgery on my hip. Hooray!

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com

Confession of a Hypocrite

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                Anyone who has followed Anecdotage since the start will know what my opinions are on the National Health Service. It was a wonderful concept and is a precious resource to be preserved at all costs. I still think this. But after eight months of crippling heel pain and having followed all instructions as to exercise [no impact, stretch the Achilles, roll the instep, bottle of ice] and having exhausted all the options the NHS can offer [ultrasound and steroid jabs], I am now faced with waiting yet another 6 weeks to see a specialist or going against my principles and seeing someone privately.

                I wouldn’t be doing this but for the facts that: a] I have yet to see the same GP twice regarding the problem, b] I have had to return to the GP surgery despite the physio’s recommendation for referral and c] The latest locum doctor-a young man called Sergei, handed me some sheets printed from a website with information I had ingested many months ago at the start of my own research and d] He concluded this brief consultation by shrugging his shoulders, indicating in no uncertain terms that he is unable, unwilling and uninterested in the difficulty.

                Of course I do understand that the condition is not life threatening. It is neither high profile [as, for instance, cancer] nor unusual. It is, however debilitating, painful, miserable, quality-of-life depriving and impacts hugely on overall fitness. If you are unable to exercise over a prolonged period you become unfit. Does it not make sense to enable people to exercise and thus keep themselves as healthy as possible?

                In a similar, parallel action I succumbed to my long-held, shallow, frivolous desire for whiter teeth by setting up an appointment with my own National Health dentist. Motivated by an approaching wedding, I was unaware that a certain amount of time would be needed to complete this cosmetic treatment, so waited one week for an assessment appointment to be told there was not enough time!

                I rang a local private practice. ‘Of course!’ affirmed the receptionist immediately-‘and we have a special offer for April!’ Result! My appointment was next day. I sank into a soft, leather armchair and watched TV until called. I was offered tea [rejected due to having clean teeth]. The dentist took photos-‘Yes-there is still time!’ BUT [of course there is a ‘but’] you will need this, this and this done before the process can begin’. This, this and this, naturally, cost stadium proportions of money. Still-there is TV on the ceiling above my head where I lie in the chair, Robert [the smiley dentist] and Lara [the smiley nurse] are friendly and reassuring. ‘Bread’ plays quietly in the background. It’s just as well it is comfortable, given that I will be spending almost as much time there as at home next week, that is, except for the sessions at Physiotherapy having my heel pummelled.

                So there! My principles are compromised. What is a health hypocrite to do these days?