This is the first Sunday for as long as I can remember when I haven't had to sit and write lectures, finish research, or anything else work related. It has been unbelievably relaxing, and I almost feel like a human being.
This house has been a stranger, stuffed with books and research papers, which are all going into the loft tomorrow. After excavating a box I found a lost address book, but even Christmas cards will have to wait till tomorrow. I found a scrapbook full of Helen and the Horns press cuttings that hadn't seen the light of day for years, and a scrapbook from my school days with a photo of my pal Andy. I don't even know if he's still around; it was so great to have a surrealist at school amongst all the aggressive conformity. I loved him.
Best thing of today is realising that I can almost completely move my left arm again, after four months of physiotherapy. This last bit of exercise hurts like hell but I know if I keep it up then it will get completely better.
That's what happens, apparently, when you get all macho and start shifting large pieces of furniture around to fix damp patches on the walls, after having a severely busted elbow. The physiotherapist said it is really common for people to overestimate what they can do after an injury. It was a relief to hear that, because feeling like a fool as well as being temporarily disabled made it even worse.
Because I started playing uke and guitar two days after the accident, the muscles in my forearm didn't waste, but my biceps had turned to cotton wool and two months later my shoulder completely seized up.
The problem has always been that breaking your funny-bone on an NHS march sounds like it's a joke.
I suppose it is; I never blamed anyone for bursting out laughing when I told them what had happened.
Yesterday, I carried a bag in my left hand, and today I reached up to get something off a shelf in the supermarket. This is the best Christmas present that I could possibly have had!
2 comments:
I'm glad your arm is close to fully recovered. There's a circular feel to you having injured yourself defending the NHS and the NHS then mending you at Physio. It's what it's all about in a way I suppose.
Yes, it is. The most surprising thing was that when I went into A&E none of the nurses, doctors, radiologists or other staff had any idea how many people were marching in London to save the NHS that day- 66,000. They had thought it was only medical staff who were supporting them. They were as grateful to the people marching as I was to them for fixing up my arm. Not only do they work bloody hard but they also work incredibly well in teams, and with a massive amount of empathy. When I realised how badly my arm was broken I was actually frightened; the nurse who put the cast on it was such a compassionate man: he asked me to come to say goodbye to him when I left the hospital that night, and having someone take such a personal approach was really moving.
I came to detest the psychopathic mindset of successive governments' privatisation policies even more after that experience.
The thought of privatising NHS staff's goodwill is completely perverse.
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