The long road back: Part 4

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Part 4: The grind begins.

Right then. I’m bored, bored, bored. And I hate it. I’ve been on a few short café-related outings recently in an attempt to feel normal again, and to a degree they have helped lift my spirits – especially yesterday when I caught up with a dozen or so of my usual Saturday am bunchies for a good old chinwag. Problem is I can’t sit up straight for more than about 30 minutes without a major escalation in pain, pills or not. Gravity really is a bitch on a busted shoulder. Lying down flat is no good either, reclining at somewhere around 30% seems to be the magic angle right now. I feel like the stoner sloth.

Logistics are beginning to prove a real pain as well. For now mum is still staying with me, so she drives me about to the shops or doctor visits, not dissimilar to three decades ago when I was a pimply-faced high school kid with 1,000 extracurricular activities. But she has her own life of course and is heading home in a few days which means I’m looking at somewhere between 2-4 weeks when I can’t drive myself – and have no driver. Social media helps up to a point, but staying connected with my normal routine, and friends, is proving virtually impossible. At least there’s a decent café/pastry shop 400m up the road that I can walk to (slowly). Reminds me, better register for online grocery shopping.

It’s been interesting on the occasions when I have ventured out so far. Cyclists seem to know exactly what’s going on based on nothing more than the type of sling I’m wearing. They generally give me plenty of space. I can also tell from the knowing nods, those who’ve been down this same shitty road themselves. One club-mate who busted his collarbone two years ago didn’t muck about, mind you. He went straight for my t-shirt, lifting it up to check underneath for the scars. Cheeky bugger, I almost punched him in the nose.

Tried going painkiller free last night. Lasted about two hours. Doh. Been popping more pills than a group of 20-year olds at a music festival. Bit depressing, frankly. But you do what you have to do, I guess. Been almost exactly one month since the crash in the USA. Longest I’ve been off the road for a very long time. Don’t like it. Arghhh.

Days since op: 12
Shirt removal pain-o-meter:  4/10

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Scar 1 of 2. No, it’s not my head (or nuts) as a few wags have suggested. Top view looking down on to my left shoulder.

 

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