Ankleversary 

Today marks 1 year since I broke my ankle. It’s just a date, nothing weird about it, no reason to be anxious, but I was very glad to be working from home today.  

When I broke my ankle on 2^nd August 2023, I was leaving work for the day. Today I am not in the office, so that’s step one to avoid whatever sort of curse my anxious brain is envisioning.  

Today I won’t be walking out across the piazza in front of the Arts Centre. I won’t be casually stepping down the small trio of steps, idly looking at my phone checking what I need to get in Morrisons on the way home, and therefore I won’t be falling, swearing, feeling stupid and then realising … something is not right, my leg feels weird, why is my foot facing the wrong way.  

And the shock, the disbelief, the feeling I was in a bad dream and would wake up soon. 

And the people were lovely, my colleagues all rushing to help, finding a wheelchair, organising a lift (ambulance would have been 4-8 hours if I remember rightly), getting me from the piazza to the back of the library in the lift, and sitting with me in the waiting room. One sat with me for I don’t know how long telling me stories from his recent holiday to distract me. He’d say from time to time ‘do you really want me to keep telling you about my holiday?’ and I’d nod vigorously, it was stopping me from crying with the pain and staring at my deformed ankle. 

Even once I left the waiting room there was still a lot of waiting. My colleague had left by now having spent far too much of their evening babysitting me! I sat in a wheelchair in a hallway wondering if anyone would come, wondering what I would do if I needed the loo when I couldn’t walk or wheel myself anywhere. Least of my problems really with a fracture dislocation needing to be reduced. Gas and air is a marvellous thing. So is the simple function of closing your eyes so you can pretend nothing bad is happening. And the loo question would be answered later with bed pans, one of the most undignified yet necessary experiences I think I’ve ever had. 

I do remember the relief though once it was done. My foot was in a boot, hidden away, not hurting so much and I thought it would be sorted soon. That of course was a tad optimistic, as I didn’t leave the hospital for another 13 days. Initially I didn’t realise the seriousness of the fracture, but I soon discovered that this was not going to be a plaster it up and go home scenario. Instead I needed an operation – an ORIF (Open Reduction, Internal Fixation) – in essence they needed to put my bones back together with the aid of what amounts to a meccano set.  

I don’t know how I got through it really. I surprised myself by talking to my wardmates and staff, making friends and taking contact details when I finally left hospital. I remember at one point saying it felt like being on a school trip, all sharing a room and being a little over-excited! I’m an introvert normally, but somehow in the hospital I was chatting to everyone. I became really fond of my wardmates especially my neighbour who very sadly passed away soon after I was discharged. 

Sleep was a big struggle for me in the hospital though. There is constant noise. Literally continuous. There are machines making weird noises, alarms beeping, staff talking, people screaming, snoring, shouting… There’s no way round it. Hospital can be no other way. I got barely any sleep for the first few days and I lost it a bit. Had a panic attack at some ridiculous hour on the Sunday (after being there since Wednesday) and had to ask a nurse to find a doctor to prescribe me sleeping tablets. It felt like a nightmare right in those moments. I couldn’t lie in my normal sleeping position, I was getting terrible neck pain and headaches from the position, I couldn’t get comfortable at all and that was all on top of the noise and disruption all around, and I felt like I couldn’t take any more and was desperate for sleep. 

And not being able to do anything for myself was so hard. There were days when I wasn’t allowed out of bed at all, although I was able to transfer to the chair by my bed for most of it. But I couldn’t go anywhere without help, including every time I needed the toilet! Having to press my call button to ask a member of staff to wheel me over to the toilet yet again made me feel like such a pain. Once I did get home there were some things I could do once I got used to my crutches but I couldn’t even just fetch myself a cup of tea and that was tough. And not being able to drive meant I had to rely on others to help, and for a very independent person, who is social awkward and a loner, that is properly hard to do. 

It’s been a whole year but this all still feels fresh in my mind. Probably partly to do with the fact that I’m not back to normal. Never will be probably. My ankle is still sore every day. I walk with a stick if I’m going any distance, I don’t have the flexibility in my ankle I used to have. I am a lot more careful, more cautious, less casual about how I walk and get around. I still get flashes in my mind of myself falling. If you ask me to remember how on earth I tripped on the steps that day in such a way to break my ankle I couldn’t tell you, but my brain can visualise myself falling on every step I walk on. I get a catch in my breath as I’m seeing myself trip, imagining my self catching my toe under a step, missing a step, slipping, crashing down … and my heart races. 

There were some funny moments, like when you realise that being asked about your bowel movements daily becomes normal and you find yourself announcing to your corner of the ward that you’ve just been and get cheers! And the way you raise your arm and turn your head when you see a nurse approaching to do your obs (arm up for blood pressure cuff and heart rate monitor, head turned for thermometer in your ear)! And sharing my love of crochet with anyone who came by and commented on my crochet blanket on the bed. Sometimes you just had to laugh so you didn’t cry. 

In the grand scheme of things, it was small. It was just an ankle fracture. It was just a couple of weeks in the hospital. But it changed everything about my life. Most things are back to normal now, but I will never be the same again. There’s good and bad in that. Amped up anxiety and flashes of falling fear, pain and frustrations, but so much more empathy, friendship and the amazing realisation that more people than I imagined actually care about me. It’s been quite a year!