Nice car journey down and Fowey is indeed very picturesque. Lots of little pubs and eateries, shops selling sailing equipment, and sailing clothes to those who never sail. And little art galleries. Dawn French owns a palatial spot there. Great views. And fatally, great walks.
Then in the afternoon we went for a coastal walk. And undoubtedly it was muddy. Very. But we seemed to have got past the worst of it until I hit my nemesis, a patch of really clay like mud. All happened in a flash but I think my right foot slipped on the oily surface while my left unfortunately stuck in the gloopy mud, so instead of slipping on my backside in comic fashion I went sideways and turned over my left foot. My walking boot probably protected me a bit, but only to allow my fibula to break higher up. But we were in the middle of nowhere (without even mobile signal) so I was helped to my feet and John confidently said, "well if you can stand on it at least you know you haven't broken anything" Well that's no doubt why we are both lawyers not medics. I didn't help myself by proceeding to limp for half an hour with the aid of John's shoulder and a stick kindly donated by a passing walker until we could climb a hill to a road. Got a lift from a kind couple and then I sat for the afternoon with my ankle wrapped in a bag of frozen peas. Since that didn't seem to do anything, John and Lucy decided that a trip to Truro A & E was in order. On the way we passed Fowey's minor injury clinic where a very nice nurse had a quick feel and said you never know with these things, so suggested we pass on to Truro after all. Not sure how minor an injury had to be for Fowey to treat it, but I suspect we may be in the realm of nettle rash or paper cut.
So to Truro, followed by x-ray, confirmation that there was a break, plaster cast applied an appointment to return on Wednesday.
Now when put on crutches you do suddenly start to see things from the perspective of the disabled. Firstly stairs are really hard work. Especially old, narrow steep ones. In the end safest approach is going up and down on backside with crutches in hand. Bruises bottom and dignity, but safe. Hard bit is standing at top.
Then back to the fracture unit Wednesday morning. Was enviously looking around the waiting room at people with more convenient fractures, left arms, fingers etc. So they took off my cast, put another on (was given choice of red white or blue) but then the doctor came round again, said the leg/foot was too swollen for the plaster and had it removed again, that I would need an operation but it was too swollen for that, but they needed to do manipulative surgery right away as the break had also dislodged the main bone from the ankle. So much to my surprise I was going to have to stay in and be operated on that night. I ended up in a little ward with 5 elderly gentlemen awaiting the operation . Only having eaten nothing all day awaiting this they ran out of theatre time and had to postpone me to the next day.
Well luckily I did get sorted in the afternoon, but they also said they would have to wait until swelling subsided to do the full operation I needed including inserting a screw. I could therefore just stay there awaiting a slot. I asked then how I would get home as my friends left on Sunday, and was told the train. Now I really didn't fancy trying the train with luggage and crutches, nor an indefinite stay with the old codgers, so opted for discharge, sleep on my friends couch now Ollie had arrived (sporting a very Cornish fisherman full beard - and I remember holding him in my arms as a baby - sigh), then a night with them at the Fowey Hall Hotel, followed by return by car to London and get the operation done at a private hospital in London the following week.
So Friday we went to another pub, on what was a really glorious day, and I sat out on the verandah in a little sun trap with a pint and a crab sandwich and was as happy as one could reasonably be with a broken leg. Just such a nice warm day in February - there was even a kid surfing in the bay in front of us (although to be fair, the lad must have been freezing as even a sheltered bay in Cornwall in February is not exactly Bondi Beach)
Then onto the wonderfully luxurious Fowey Hall Hotel for a night. Now this is where the wealthier middle classes come with their families. Needless to say I wasn't able to enjoy the pool facilities, but they had lovely lounges and I was even able to go for a hop around the grounds and take a few photos across the bay. Lovely site. Then a bit of fine dining in the evening. Very poncey food decoratively presented which one should try every now and again. Items such as roast wood pigeon, veal cheeks and pig cheeks. However in Lucy's eyes the restaurant rather blotted their copy books by putting us in an annex to the restaurant to keep us with a child away from the other diners whose delicate sensibilities might be offended by under age eating.
Now this was particularly reprehensible because the offending 12 year old is better behaved than almost every adult I have ever eaten with. And on top of that we were made to suffer an endlessly looping classical muzak track which as were the only ones in the room being entertained by it, was especially galling. But since Lucy's complaints to the manager elicited free after dinner drinks, and I was more than happy with their company to the exclusion of any other posh diners, I personally felt that was a decent result.
While the others had a suite upstairs, I had a very nice room on the ground floor. Perfect for me and had the added advantage of french windows leading onto the lawns at the front with views across the bay. Indeed so nice was it the next morning, with the sun out just burning off a little mist, that I felt obliged to open the glass doors with camera around my neck and venture out a couple of metres on my crutches to take a few photos. And such good quality was the glass door that I didn't hear it silently close behind me until the very gentlest "click" alerted me to the fact that I was now locked out on crutches and even my one good foot didn't have a shoe on it. So all I could do was hop across the dewy lawn to the breakfast room and look up hopelessly at the diners. Unfortunately the only ones facing me were little girls under 5 for whom I was merely mild entertainment. So in the end I had to use one crutch to bang on the windows for attention.
A full English breakfast later, and a new sock to replace my dew-soaked one (one plus point of this is you use up socks at half normal rate), I settled back in the lounge again, coffee and paper brought to me, foot upon table and slumped back into comfy sofa. Allow the others a last walk while I enjoy the finest luxuries of a Sunday morning. Until the children's entertainer arrived. At that moment he uttered the most chilling words available in the English language - well to me at least. "Now kids, how loud do we feel this morning?"
At least it gave me some practice in how fast I can move on crutches in an emergency. Fortunately, the library was nearby.
Then back to London and thankfully had the chance to stay with the friends I visited at Christmas for a week. Unfortunately T had to go to New York on business for a few days leaving her husband to look after two boys over half term plus me. Well the 15 year old frankly doesn't take much looking after. For some unaccountable reason he preferred to hang with his mates and his beautiful new girlfriend than chat with an old cripple. No accounting for taste. (Although we did get in watching a few episodes of Family Guy and South Park together) Luckily his 10 year old brother wasn't so picky, so he acted as my gopher for a week, doing lots of little bits of fetching and carrying. And if you are on crutches that's whats difficult - any little bits of picking something up from A to move it to B. In exchange I played countless games of monopoly. No hardship as he is such a nice little chap and we chatted happily about all sorts as his dad got on with all the other tasks of running a household (making me tea, feeding me etc). I can honestly say I spent a fortnight in the company of some of the nicest kids you could ever wish to meet.
We went out to the National Trust property at Osterley for its opening day and lunch in its excellent cafe. Making use of their free buggy system for those with walking difficulties.
And of course there was the consultation, MRI scan and then operation at the Wellington hospital. Now its fair to say this was a very different experience from the NHS. My own private room with spacious well-equipped shower room. Excellent food. Extensive TV channels (including many in Arabic as it clearly has a big Middle-eastern clientele) Wish I could have stayed longer.
But now back to my own home, fending for myself. Which is rather tough. Gone are all the cups of tea. I have now got my fourth cast on, but this is an air cast so removable. I do look like a Star Wars trooper with it on. But can remove it at night and shower without it, so better from that viewpoint. But problem is I can put no weight on the leg. So its hopping only. And while my right thigh may at the end of this be like tree trunk from hopping all my weight upstairs, the left is likely to waste to nothing. In this for 4 weeks at least. Hope no more as intend to go to to Elbow gig at O2 on 28 March. Lucky in hindsight that I have a seat not standing.
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