March 23rd – D+34 The Long Walk To Freedom

“Thou shalt enlarge my steps under me: and my ankles shall not fail.” Day by day, I am rising, Lazarus like, to be reborn as a mediocre Sunday league footballer. Not bad for an agnostic. The progress over the last two weeks has been exceptionally pleasing. Probably not enough to cite the Bible and compare myself to a man resurrected by Jesus, but who cares?

I have now almost weaned myself off crutches altogether, allowing me to hobble short distances in my pressure boot. Just over a week ago, I found myself awkwardly using my left crutch to support my left ankle and using a kind of hopping gait which meant I only needed one crutch. This was made a lot simpler when I visited my physio, Regan, and she politely pointed out I was using the crutch on the wrong side. “Ah... of course” I muttered sheepishly.

Beyond recognising my alarming lack of common sense, I was given a number of exercises to do daily (with beautifully drawn diagrams*) to rebuild some basic strength in my legs which have wasted considerably. Notwithstanding the likely challenge from friends that my legs were never particularly muscular in the first place, they were at least a sufficiently coherent collection of muscle fibres to constitute rounded thighs and calves – if not trunks of oak, at least healthily thick branches of willow. Now, however, they resemble several autumnal sapling twigs, rattling around inside an oversized sleeve. The gym ball based exercises and static cycling are designed to rebuild the hamstrings and quads, and it seems, to give me cramp. It’s all progress.
(* I was specifically instructed not to mock the drawings)

So ‘walking with boot’ is another milestone reached. I pondered some of the upcoming milestones on the road to full recovery (that long walk to freedom... ahem), and came up with the following:

• Running on G-Trainer (a zero gravity treadmill) – 5-6 weeks post-op
• Running on a normal treadmill - ???
• Leg press and lunges - ???
• Avoiding dancing / injury at Dave & Laura’s wedding – 8 weeks
• Embarrassing dancing at Sat & Charlotte’s wedding – 11 weeks
• Running on hard ground – 14 weeks
• Embarrassing dancing at Steve & Laura’s wedding (optional tie around forehead) – 20 weeks
• Football training (no ballwork) – 22 weeks?
• Kicking a football! – 26 weeks?
• Full football - Pre-season tour – 28 weeks
• First 50/50 tackle – 28 weeks + 1 day
• Back in hospital – 29 weeks

Stats & highlights
Days until brothers stag do: 8
Current reading: Inverting The Pyramid
Music: Redemption Song (Bob Marley)
On request (cheers Keeno) I have added some new stats:
Number of times I’ve wanted to scratch my leg beneath the cast/boot: Approx. 792
Number of Google searches in last week: Approx. 56
Top 10 Google searches (work-safe version):
1. ‘liverpool+Manchester+united+transfer+spending’
2. ‘london+weather+forecast’
3. ‘liverpool+versus+Manchester+united+highlights’
4. ‘buy+private+islands’
5. ‘puerto+banus+restaurants’
6. ‘puerto+banus+bars’
7. ‘comic+relief+Kilimanjaro+climb+faked’ (0 results – it’s a conspiracy)
8. ‘how+to+make+a+mojito’
9. ‘pamplona+bulls+running’
10. ‘doves+tickets+brixton’

March 11th - D+22 The Audacity of Hope

‘The journey of a thousand miles must begin with just one step’. Lao Tzu clearly had reconstructive ankle surgery at some point in his life. I saw the specialist yesterday (3 weeks post-op) and I am now tentatively taking my own steps on my emaciated ankle.

I guess the next six months will be about small victories and yesterday was rich in them. Whilst waiting for my appointment, an elderly lady on the sofa next to me, leaned over, pointed at my Aircast clad foot and said “Oooh, is that the ‘Beckham Boot’?”. I puffed out my chest, spread myself a little wider across the sofa and replied nonchalantly “Yes, I guess it is...” So this is what it’s come to – attempting to claim some reflected glory in the fact that I have the same widely available medical appliance as one once worn by a famous footballer (and one that I dislike too). A miniscule victory.

The news from the follow-up was promising though – the joint looks to have recovered well and by the middle of next week, I should be fully weight bearing (FWB) although still with two crutches. In 3 weeks time, I can take the Aircast boot off at night and in 5 weeks time I can take it off all together. Most importantly, I specifically asked the specialist about my likely mobility for my brother’s stag trip to Puerto Banus – he estimated that I could be walking in the boot by then so it should not cause any problems. He went on to say: “You will want to keep the boot on at all times though. You know, stag dos ... a few drinks, high jinks and all that...” I suppressed a smile as he hastily added “Not that I’m suggesting anything of course!” We understood each other perfectly.

My first visit to my physiotherapist is scheduled for tomorrow, with a detailed referral from the surgeon. Apparently, for the next two weeks, the therapy must be ‘passive’ on my part – which means I’m not allowed to actively move my ankle. Instead my foot will have to be manipulated by the hands of my physio while I lie back in comfort. It’s a shame I don’t have a foot fetish. NB: I’ve just re-read the last couple of sentences and it’s clear that I’ve spent too much time indoors and on my own recently.

I am now back in London, safely ensconced in my own home again which is pleasant. I’ve devised an ‘ankle safe’ dumbbell workout to take the edge off the small paunch I’ve acquired; this morning, I managed to burn 950 calories... which I guess is about half of the enormous supper I had last night. Small victory. A daily to-do list keeps me occupied. I’m an obsessive list maker and in my current predicament I find it provides a reassuring structure and purpose to my day which enables to me to tick off important personal errands such as: ‘order new curtains’, ‘paint bannisters’ and ‘buy wedding presents’. All small victories.

Stats & highlights:
Days until brother’s stag do: 21
Days until Dave & Laura’s wedding: 29
Current reading: Anyone Can Do It
Music: Walking Away (The Egg)
New films watched: 1 (Zodiac)

March 4th - D+15 ‘RoboCop 4: The Crippled Cyborg’

Rejoice! Yesterday my plaster was removed, 2 weeks after the op. I gave an inordinately loud groan of pleasure as the nurse cut open the cast and released my twig like limb; sufficiently loud in fact for the nurse to eye me suspiciously as if I might have some sort of niche hospital related fetish.


My pleasure was short lived though. My left calf is covered in saggy skin with much of the muscle underneath having wasted away. My ankle has virtually no flexibility and no strength at all. There was also a significant amount of dried blood in the area, presumably from Towel Rail-Gate (see Feb 22nd). I was slightly bemused by the arrow drawn in permanent marker down my left shin, which was applied pre-op to avoid any confusion in the operating theatre. And even more bemused when I realised the lower half of my leg had been shaved - and not with a Gillette Venus judging by the uneven stubble.


The good news though, is that the incision has healed well and all seems to have gone according to plan. More will be known when I visit the surgeon next week. I was then fitted for an Aircast boot, a plastic version of my cast that looks like RoboCop’s lower leg. This is inflated and deflated using a small pumping bladder. For a few seconds I had flashbacks to my youth, recalling Reebok Pump basketball boots and my first pair of Nike Airs.

At this stage, I had assumed that I would now be able to start bearing weight, perhaps even with just one crutch. Unfortunately, it became clear that I had been very over optimistic. The nurse gave me the low-down on the next stage - the cast will stay on for 4-6 weeks essentially just as a more comfortable and removable version of my plaster cast; it has to be worn most of the time and always at night; I still need to keep my leg elevated much of the time; and most importantly, I cannot put any weight on it and need to use both crutches.

What I do need to start doing is just touching the base of the boot to the floor as I walk and rolling it forward without putting any weight on it. I gave this some practice with the nurse watching and must admit, it was an unsettling experience. I had no confidence in touching my foot to the floor and was terrified my ankle would somehow give way, even though I wasn’t putting weight on it. With a bit more effort though, it has become more intuitive. It has now become brutally clear to me just how long it is going to take to fully recover, starting with several weeks before I can even walk.

Undeterred and somewhat laughably, I have recently invested a couple of hours putting together updated playlists for my iPod labelled ‘Gym’ and ‘Running’. Highlights include Magic Carpet Ride (Steppenwolf), Highway to Hell (AC/DC) and The Reflex (Duran Duran). These might actually be retro kitsch remixes by the time I’m exercising again. I am unashamed.

My plan is to return to London on Sunday. Although still fairly immobile, it makes practical sense to be able to get to appointments with my surgeon and physiotherapist. My mum, of course, was visibly dismayed at the news having enjoyed playing mother to me again for the past 2 weeks; I probably haven‘t been this dependent on her since before puberty. She even bought me new underwear from M&S yesterday, clearly unaware that a fully grown man finds this a little embarrassing and somewhat emasculatory. I’m starting to feel like James Caan in ‘Misery’. Sometime between now and Sunday, I expect to wake in the middle of the night to find my mum standing at the end of the bed, smiling maniacally and framed by a flash of lightning, preparing to smash my ankle to pieces with a heavy duty rolling pin.

An observation, completely detached from all of this, is the current Comic Relief challenge to climb Kilimanjaro. I read a few weeks ago that several B-list celebrities are climbing Kili to raise money for the charity event, including Chris Moyles, Gary Barlow and two members of Girls Aloud. The idea that my 7-day ordeal last October could be completely undermined by the gluttonous and slothful Moyles reaching the summit, made me feel physically sick. However, a rudimentary Google News search reveals that Cheryl Cole has been crying, Fearne Cotton is struggling with altitude sickness and Aleasha Dixon tumbled down the mountain whilst urinating behind a bush. I feel better now. Is that wrong?

Highlights & stats:
Cups of tea per day: 4
Days until brother’s stag do: 28
Current reading: Free Lunch
Music: True Skool, Coldcut / Roots Manuva
New films watched: 1 (Death Note)

February 28th - D+11 The Smell of Victory

My 'embroidered cage' (see Feb 22nd post)

WARNING: The following post contains graphic descriptions of personal hygeine that may make you view the author with contempt.

World Exclusive!: Nothing has happened. A friend castigated me recently for the lack of regular activity on my blog and I pointed out that these first two weeks with plaster on have been a curious twilight zone where time stands still and nothing of any note happens. I plan to write this blog until I start playing football again in late August (that‘s right, literature fans - 6 more months of bilge!) during which time, I am reasonably confident something interesting will happen. I also hope it will usefully chart my recovery for others who have the same operation; I have come across a couple of other blogs that proved useful to me.

My leg plaster is removed on Wednesday, two weeks post op, and I will be put into an aircast - one of those plastic boots that Gerrard and Rooney wore to protect their metatarsals. That’s world famous footballers Steven Gerrard and Wayne Rooney. The difference is that the Sunday tabloids won’t be taking pictures of me hobbling out of my mock Tudor mansion to get into my Bentley. The aircast should be on for 4-6 weeks but is removable for physio and bathing (I pity the poor nurse who has to remove my plaster cast to face my withered limb, unwashed in 2 weeks). During this time I have my brother’s stag trip in Marbella and a friend’s wedding to attend, looking like a cheap cyborg - quite a ladykiller. Perhaps I could pass myself off as a professional footballer?…

So there really isn’t much to write about at the moment unless I start giving a daily update on my personal hygiene. And while I’m on the subject, I seem to have developed superhuman body odour that is relentless in the face of repeated showering. I’m sure this must be some sort of medical condition as a result of doing nothing but eating home cooked food and literally sitting on the sofa all day. I’m mildly disgusted by the acrid and pungent smell I permanently emit. Even on Kilimanjaro after 10 days without a shower, I don’t recall smelling so strongly of what can only be described as spiced petrol. I have found myself absent-mindedly sniffing my armpits during the day like some sort of wild chimpanzee or lazy adolescent curious at the smell of his own flatulence. I am also re-growing my luxurious ‘mountain beard’ although at the moment its ragged appearance gives me a startling likeness to Adrien Brody in ‘The Pianist’.

So, I’m a hopping, one-legged and bearded slob, who looks like a WWII refugee and smells like a canister of 4-star spiked with garam masala. Mothers, lock up your daughters…

Highlights & stats
Cups of tea per day: 3
Days until plaster removed: 3 long, long days
Current reading: Cat’s Cradle
Music: Beggin’ (Pilooski Re-edit), Frankie Vallie & The Four Seasons
New movies watched: 3 (Brief Encounter, The Player, The Rainmaker)