Blog 8 – Going home?

I’ve neglected the blog since I’ve been home, not because I’ve been busy, but because my brain hasn’t been in “blog” mode.  I’ve said before that my blog posts write themselves – here is the proof!!

I had a total of 8 weeks in rehab.  Everything is geared towards regaining independence and going home.  I had a “goal setting” meeting in September and the goal of going home was set.  I did a car transfer, I was walking using a frame, I was going to start using crutches the day after the goal setting meeting.  All systems a go!  An environmental visit to my home was arranged – which then went wrong.  My mum was waiting to meet the OTs, who got delayed……..they must have missed each other by seconds.  So then there was a delay in the going home stuff.  Frustrating as hell.  But then, it was decided I’d do a home visit, with a physio and an OT, all at the same time.  We could then work out what I needed at home.  I did stairs at the unit – predictably a piece of piss (as was walking on crutches).  But a few days beforehand, I was walking to the dining room when I got a sharp pain in my lower leg.  And then I couldn’t put any weight on it.  I burst into tears, not because of the pain, but the sheer frustration of things going well, and then this.  I then noticed, 2 days before my home visit, that there was a distinct clicking in my leg.  With every step, and as I was lifting my foot up and down when resting.  I let the physios know, even though I wasn’t concerned because I had no pain.  On the Monday, I was sent off for x-rays and not allowed to bear weight on my leg.  Although I understood why, I’d been bearing weight on the leg from the word go, so why now??  I wasn’t allowed to walk on it until we heard back from Mr Chan at Aintree.  This scuppered the home visit 😦  Dr Basu described my fracture as “a bit popadom” (best analogy ever!!), and this is why he didn’t want me putting weight on it.  This is getting to be a long, boring story – but the day I was due to have my home visit didn’t happen, although we got the all clear for me to put weight on my leg again.  I would just go on the Wednesday instead.

The home visit was……..tough.  Very, very tough.  It was a tough day anyway.  It was the day of Martin’s inquest, and I hadn’t been called.  No idea why.  That was a bit weird.  A friend of mine was being dragged to court by his (ex) wife.  And I was going to see my house for the first time in god knows how many weeks.  Thinking about it, it was probably a bit fucking stupid to do the home visit, but I was determined (just by way of a change!).  I knew that my house had been decluttered – but it was just so different.  It was overwhelming.  I felt bad for firing question after question at my friend Joe about where things were.  Things were cleared to create space for me to womble around, and had been done with me in mind, and all I could do was question where my dishwasher was; my table; my coffee table; my rug, etc, etc.  However, we worked out a way of me getting up and down stairs, and I didn’t need much in the way of equipment.  Now I’d done this, I could have some overnight stays, and then go home for good.

Later on in the day, I got word on what had happened at the inquest.  Accidental death, which I had expected.  What I didn’t expect is for my 8 page statement to be ignored.  2 statements were used, one of which was Joe’s, who was ahead of us and by his own admission didn’t see the accident.  The other was a pedestrian, who’s description of what happened bore very little resemblance to what I experienced.  My mind went into overdrive – could I have been wrong? My memories of what happened have been so very clear.  There was, in my mind, nothing Martin did wrong, nor anything he could have done to prevent the accident.  I do not believe he rode recklessly.  He was a very experienced biker, and I don’t think the bend itself took him by surprise.  That bit of road did, but not the bend itself.  No matter what was said at the inquest, I know what really happened – as does anyone who reads this blog.  A lot of tears were shed over this.  And still are.

And so, back to going home.  I had an overnight stay lined up – I had always planned to go with the NWB on a charity ride out to Martin’s bench at Rhayader, and now this coincided with an overnight stay – I decided it was going to be easier to do from my house rather than the unit, given that we were using my car.  That Sunday was a good day, and we raised £180 for the North West Air Ambulance.  It wasn’t as emotionally heartwrenching as I’d thought, but I did get a load of bikers to strip off their boots, gloves and helmets to make a row of little Benny’s for me.  The hardest part of the home leave was having to return to the unit on the Monday! But I was hopeful of going home the following weekend, and then it was just a matter of days before I was able to go home for good.  That next weekend, I was having my girls stay – I even organised an Asda order!!

Finally, after a total of 11 weeks in hospital and rehab, I went home on Friday 5th October 2013.  And then the next chapter in recovery starts.

 

 

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