How To Break Your Leg

Well, that’s up to you actually. There are lots of different ways; none of them recommended. Mine was to have a weirdly-angled fall while walking a bike down a slope because I thought it looked too dangerous to ride down.

If you happen to do yours while running for the toilet paper aisle, how 2020 of you.

But having done the deed, you’ll be wanting some survival tips! Here are some Scraps of Wisdom from Laidupland, not in any particular order.

crutches – you’re Iron Man, though not in the way you expected! Well, at least Aluminium Man. The soreness in your armpits should only be for a few days, and you will also build up some arm and upper body strength as you lump yourself around; it gets better with time.

hash, change, rearrange – get someone around after a few days and ask them to help moving stuff around. By that stage you should be (painfully) aware of significant changes that need to be made. What works for you as a two-footed adult is not the same as what works for you as a unidexter. Somewhat-functional is not the same as fully functional. As much as I like clean benches and ‘minimalist’ looking kitchen, I decided to leave all my delivered groceries right there on the bench. Ugly, but easier than struggling to put tins and packets into cupboards from which I would also struggle to retrieve them.

favours – early in the piece someone said to me: ‘People will offer to help. Be sensible enough to accept their help.’ This was very good advice. Friends did offer to help. I had social visits from as far flung as the People’s Democratic Republic of Lonnavale, shopping delivered, vegan donut afternoon teas in house, a shopping trip to get a special seat for the shower; even a neighbour who mowed my lawn and put the bins out. Unfortunately I forgot to get any of these helpful people to repaint the sun room or straighten that wayward bit of the back fence, but I still have one leg left…

health insurance – nice if you’ve got it. But I circumvented any possible waiting room blues at the public hospital by getting an x-ray done at the Calvary in Lenah Valley. When they determined a double fracture they put me in a chair and wheeled me down to their emergency department where they put on a plaster, had a specialist see me and made arrangements for surgery at the public hospital in Hobart. Total cost $267. The service was, I thought, prompt, personal, and worth the money. See, Tasmanian Times is not run by a raving Stalinist.

Being laid up is a chance to reconnect with old friends.

phone home – use your phone. Send messages, make some calls. Your social life is now on the couch. It’s like lockdown, except you did it to yourself instead of COVID-19. People will still get it. In the last two months I heard, joyfully, from people I hadn’t sighted in 15 years.

pain relief – get some good stuff while the getting is good? Probably not. The medical community is determined not to get too many people hooked on oxycodone and other knock-it-out-of-the-park meds so your prescription might not be as delirious as you expected. Most likely you’ll get a small amount to set you right and then be expected to have a go at making do with paracetamol, ibuprofen and aspirin. Not quite as iconic as the Pointer Sisters but still might help you sing your way through dem blues.

doing things – cleaning stuff at waist level was possible. Everything else was not. A former housemate found me a lady who’d come around and do a couple of hours cleaning per week: floors, bathroom, kitchen. This was money well spent and I feel lucky that I could afford it. On Gumtree I found a young lad who came around with what looked like a vintage 1980’s Victa mower and attempted to cut my lawns. At least you tried, Dylan.

corners – if you try hard, you’ll be able to think of corners of your house you haven’t cried in yet. These feel like new, unexplored worlds.

be kind to yourself – indulge a little. Yes you can wear pyjamas all day, have ice cream for breakfast and baked beans for dinner, binge watch until you’re reached the end of the universe and then start all over again. Self care is as important as not getting the damn wound wet.

bottle (cruisy) – got a sports drink bottle lying around? Good, fill it up, stuff it down your shirt, hobblecrutch to your bedroom and leave it on the bedside table. If/when you feel thirsty you’ll be able to have a sip without getting up and All That That Entails. Good lord, you can even have a sip without sitting up: just roll over and squirt some water into your mouth.

bottle (yucky) – a wide-necked bottle like a fabric softener one is ideal for peeing in. One next to the couch. One in the home office. One beside the bed. A single bottle alone can save you about six trips to the bathroom. Yes, this is clearly a male-biased suggestion.

let it go – it’s fine to not answer sometimes, to not feel up to things, to accept that the weeds will have their day for now and boy will they pay for it come summer, to defer plans, to reduce your load, to consider learning some Huntsman because you can’t take the bugger out and leave him on the fence, to take some you days when you need you days, and so on.

slowly – ‘time passes slowly, up here in the mountains’ sang Bob Dylan. Dammit Zimmy, it’s pretty slow when walking like you once did is likely months away. One. Day. At. A. Time. That’s how you get there. Every time you haul yourself into bed, that’s another day

washing 1 – I found out I couldn’t carry my laundry basket to the washine machine. Sleeping in unwashed pyjamas for a week gave me the answer: use a sports bag. I found a moderately sized sports bag that could take about 10 items of clothing and more to the point had a long shoulder strap. Fill it up, crutchstagger to the washing machine, do the washing, then use the bag again to take the washing to your clothes horse. Leave the bag there until the clothes are dry, then use it to take the clean clothes back to your room. Repeat.

washing 2 – washing yourself is also hard. If you don’t already have a mobility-friendly house, get a handy friend to install some heavy duty handrails in your bathroom and toilet. You can use these to take your weight while you manoeuvre yourself, with all the grace of Clive Palmer doing the hula, into position. Don’t drop the soap.

get out – sometimes you need to get out. Taxi drivers, even for short fares like to my local GP, were happy to have me. If you have a bus stop nearby you can get a bus and ride all day, watching the world go by.

sleep is fine – we Westerners have a kind of guilt about sleep. We deny the need for a siesta, make fun of those who nap, proudly proclaim our lack of sleep for exams/kids/work and other reasons. But fundamentally, sleep is good. Sleep is when the body repairs itself. You have a broken leg and a pretty high repair load. So…

moon boot – “It’s one small step for a man…and not that easy either.” Sooner or later you’ll transition to having an orthopaedic boot a.k.a. moon boot. And at some stage you’ll be allowed to walk with it on. This is indeed a step forward, as it were, but don’t count on entering the 5K just yet. Due to its bulk, height and weight, walking with an ortho-boot on is not very comfortable and can cause discomfort elsewhere like in your back and off foot. Slow-ly does it.

people can be nice – I went to the city for an appointment at the orthopaedic outpatient clinic. People were really nice. The bus driver who made sure I was sat down before she drove off. The bloke I sat next to who said he’d broken his leg even worse, and showed me the scars. The hospital security guy who offered to page an orderly to wheel me to the clinic. The girl in the coffee shop afterwards. The man in the spice shop who stayed open a few more minutes so I could get some specialty shopping done after months without. The neighbour who spotted me returning and offered to do this and that.

Sometimes these things can make you wonder why people aren’t this nice all the time. Hold that thought. Are you nice to strangers? Senselessly, endlessly, selflessly? Why or why not? Does someone have to break a leg for you to realise that they might not be doing too well and could use a hand?

I know that I, after my moments of extreme vulnerability and lousy balance, now have a different perspective on what makes a society. On what health means to me, and to the wellbeing of any person.

If you need help, give me a call.