Today is Thursday 29th October and thanks to the kind ladies here at St, Mary's I have been allowed to use their computer and update my blog. Although there are huge gaps in my memory as to what exactly happened when I was in The Royal Orthopaedic (Martin, unfortunately for him, has a very vivid picture) I'm going to try and remember best I can.
Saturday was the first day I was aware of where I was and knew roughly what had happened. I 'came round' in my room with an absolutely exhausted looking Martin sitting next to me with his head lying on my bed. He had been sat there since Thursday afternoon (I think), afraid to leave me because I was unable to operate the PCA (patient controlled anaesthesia) which was delivering the morphine I still needed. He looked dreadful. Honestly, I know Ive said it before but my man is a hero. I'm convinced he saved my life that weekend by staying with me hour after hour, and staying awake. Goodness knows what would have happened if he had left me. Its probably a blessing in disguise that I cant remember anything that happened prior to then.
It was a small, but very clean, room I had with just about room for the 3 nurses who were standing round my bed discussing the 'traction' I needed to stabilize my leg. I didn't understand what they were talking about, plus I was still very confused and spaced out from what had happened. I kept slipping off to 'Planet Morphine' complete with some very interesting hallucinations. I think the trauma to my body hadn't helped either and I was still in shock. So I felt very vulnerable and frightened and just clung on to Martins hand for dear life.
Martin did understand, however, the importance of stabilizing my leg, of keeping it as still as possible, as this would reduce and control the excruciating pain I was still experiencing every time it was moved even a fraction.
Mr Tillman, the orthopaedic surgeon, came to see me then and explained the procedure he intended to perform to 'fix' my femur. This would involve inserting a specially made plastic and silver 'rod' into my left femur where the bone had crumbled. It would take a week to 10 days to make this special 'rod' to my measurements and in the meantime I would stay in hospital on traction.
A week to 10 days???
Still, there was nothing I could do about it and I brightened up when told I would be transferred to St Marys on Monday and so spend most of the time there.
So, back to this 'traction' and what it would entail. Nothing surgical, a tight bandage would be wrapped around my leg from top to bottom and a weight attached to my foot to hold it straight and stop the bone fragments from grating against each other - a really, really unpleasant sound !! I was told it may prove a little painful when first done (understatement of the year!) but should be easier from then on as it would need repeating daily.
The first time was, quite frankly, a complete nightmare. Even though I still had enough morphine in my system to drop a fully grown elephant the pain from the bone fragments rubbing together soon had me screaming and crying and mauling poor Martins hand. It seemed like ages but within a few moments the traction was on and the relief I felt was instantaneous. At last I could relax a bit and Martin could go home for a well earned shower and rest.
We thought the worst was over but there was still more to come.....