I think we need to take a moment to appreciate the great British summer we are currently basking in. I am writing this sat on my balcony, in shorts and T-shirt; welcome to Costa Del Oxford. The only negative about this weather, is the level of complaints I receive from the Americans, that we don’t have air conditioning in houses here…as if it’s my fault?!
On Monday I attempted some Brian and crutches free walking. We have class in the Sheldonian Theatre so I walked there and back. My foot seemed ok-ish. There was some pain and discomfort, but my physio had advised this was to be expected. I then rested it for the whole afternoon and into the evening before heading out to see some friends. So far, so good. However, Tuesday morning, I could barely put weight on it. It was so painful, which prompted me to call Trauma Clinic again.
When we first went to Trauma Clinic back in April, the Dr was very dismissive and seemed pretty convinced I would be definitely back walking in 8 weeks, and probably even running. This was now 7.5 weeks and I couldn’t even put weight on it. He originally said he had no cause to see me again, however I knew I had to go back. Luckily, I spoke to a very pleasant secretary who arranged an appointment for me on Thursday.
And well, we all know what happened then. If you don’t, I’ll give you a brief overview: it’s still fractured. A different Dr did a new X-ray and the fracture line was still there, clear as day. No wonder it was hurting when I walked on it… I love how the Dr joked that “you must have a high pain threshold!” Hmmm.
Anyway, I had the day on Thursday to be upset, to wallow and be incredibly annoyed that after nearly 8 weeks of taking the utmost care of my foot and doing everything (and more) the Drs advised, it was still broken and I definitely wouldn’t be running any time soon. On Thursday night I dragged myself out to the Oxford Union with the intention of watching a debate, however that never happened. A very dramatic evening unfurled instead, with the House being cleared before the debate had even began.
On Friday I had a lovely visit from the parentals: we went out for lunch and I showed them around the Oxford Union. After they left, I went to receive my first Covid-19 vaccine and subsequently entered 36 hours of Moderna misery. I was prepared for this, so had lined up “Clarksons Farm” on Amazon Prime to watch whilst working my way through the endless list of side-effects from the injection. Side note- I’d highly recommend it (Clarksons Farm, not Moderna).
And just like that, another week rolls by. It was a devastating blow to hear the news about Brian this week. I really wasn’t expecting anything of the sort. I thought it would be basically healed and the Dr would be giving me the all clear to start running again. However, I now have NHS physio and a follow up appointment at Trauma Clinic to work towards. I’ve had my day of feeling sorry for myself, now I’ve got to be positive and do everything I can to make sure the next time I go, it’s fully healed. I’m going to be biking, swimming, doing my rehab exercises religiously, taking my calcium supplements, getting enough sleep, eating lots of protein and thinking positively. Everything and anything it takes. Roll on July 22nd…