The First Two Weeks

So I am coming up on two weeks post injury.  I am still in hospital and as such cocooned from the real world and all the struggles ahead of me.

If I could sum up the first two weeks in one word it would be painful.  Nerve injuries are the worst pain-wise. It is relentless!  This dead arm of mine fucking hurts – ALL THE TIME!  It seems horribly unfair to have lost the use of the arm but be stuck with the pain.  That sucks a big hairy pair of balls.

I am excited to be leaving hospital but also a little terrified to be going out into the world so different from when I left it.

The first two weeks have been all over the place mentally and physically.  I am like:

“I’ll be fine” and start practising my hand writing with my left hand (I am right handed).

“Oh christ I can’t do this” (probably because my hand writing whilst perfectly legible was revolting compared to my old perfect script).

“I need to get my car modified so I can drive immediately.”

Sobbing hysteria – “I want my arm back”.

A brightened mood “I’ll write a blog!”.

More crying, gets out work computer and starts working and clearing inbox.


More crying, “fuck my arm is hurting!!!”

Falls asleep whilst visitors are chatting.  You weren’t boring me I promise! I am just up to my eyeballs in endone.

That was just one day! 🙂

The hospital though is a safe refuge.  There are many helpers at the touch of a button.  Some poor boy had to pull my undies down so I could twinkle three nights in a row.  Sorry Daryl.  Yes I know, the hail damage is extensive. Wish I could blame that on the accident but unfortunately that lies squarely at the feet of Cadbury chocolate, banana bread and strawberry bullets.

So in 16 hours I must face the music, let’s hope it’s Motley Crüe kickstart my heart” playing.

Before I only had one arm

Before my accident I had both my arms which I totally took for granted.  I’m sure everyone does.  I rode horses all my life and raced motorcycles competitively. Those arms sure earned their keep.  I never contemplated losing one.  I feel bad for cursing them when I would drop things frequently (I am a klutz). Now what I would not give to have those ham fisted arms back!

I no longer curse my fat ice cream cone shaped fingers or finger nails that I always thought were disgusting.  Now I look at my dormant arm and remember it stroking my newborn babies faces or holding my husband’s hand or turning the throttle on my race bike and I thank it for all its good service and then beg it mercilessly to start working again.  Come the fuck on hand, stop being so lazy!  You are sitting right there and look perfectly capable. Stop teasing me!