Cast off

Some of you reading this will know that I am encumbered these past few weeks with a bulky orthopedic cast from elbow to fingertips, having broken my left wrist as I was mid exercise in the gym. In fact, this past 18 months, all whilst exercising to keep fit, I have jammed the sacroiliac joint in my back, sprained my (other) wrist and badly damaged ligaments in my ankle. But I hadn’t actually broken anything until the other week. It’s been 30 years since I was last in a plaster cast and that was for my leg, broken on an Italian ski slope. At least my gym is local to home and the brilliant orthopaedic specialists at Ealing Hospital are only just up the road. There must be an up-side to this injury because as well as pain and discomfort, being one-handed with an awkward cast makes me feel vulnerable, both physically and emotionally. But it has slowed me down which is probably a good thing – I can’t charge around like I normally do and everyday tasks take ages (or not at all) so I just have to be more patient with myself. And of course, this relatively minor inconvenience is nothing compared to more serious and permanent damage that others suffer in accidents and worst traumas. At least I know that come next month, and after loads of exercise, my motor skills will improve and I should be getting back to being a functioning double-hander. Without exception, people around and about have treated me with care and consideration and friends and family have been helpful and supportive. In turn, I’m much more conscious of other people’s disabilities, hesitation or caution. A sobering lesson which I intend to remember.