BEFORE: in traction in Redhill General, 14th Dec. '03

DURING: still in traction, St. George's, London, 29th Dec. '03

AFTER: home, currently on crutches, 12th Feb '04

HELL OF A TRAIN JOURNEY... For me the bizarre nightmare truly started with waking up in Redhill hospital, Surrey, England, feeling light-headed from strong pain killers and not knowing where I was. I had no real sense of trauma or even pain, just confusion. I remembered coming back from a Croydon on a late train, but nothing after some vague memories of the train journey. But from what I could piece together from what Tom told me, I had gone looking for the toilet, and somehow I must have opened the wrong door, to fall onto a grassy bank, while the train was moving. HORRIFIC INJURIES. As I lay in bed trying to get my bearings, I found that already a pin had been bolted through my left leg, just below the knee, to keep the shattered pelvis away from the top of my thigh bone, in skeletal traction. Later on, this would provide me with some amusement, to see some of my friends' faces when I showed it to them. My right wrist was in a cast, having been fractured. Also my left shoulder had been fractured and dislocated. My face was black and blue and my right cheek was fractured, showing a marked bump. After I had been told what had happened, my first thought was "that must be the stupidest thing I've ever done in my life". I even joked about it at times. There was not much pain - see top left picture - the lead hanging over my shoulder is for the patient-controlled pain relief. Whenever someone asked me "What happened to you?" - having to answer "I fell off a train" seemed to sound more ridiculous each time I said it... BAD HAIR DAY: SHOCK HORROR PROBE... My parents were very surprised at my calm acceptance of the situation while I was in the hospital at Redhill. I am not the most optimistic of people. At that stage it had not really sunk in, in some ways, even when some of the nurses remarked that recovery would take quite a while. Strangely enough, while I was there, the only thing that worried me was the matted tangles at the back of my hair. I knew that the bruises would fade, but hair takes a long time to grow back, if broken by repeated tugging. The fact that no-one helped me with my hair annoyed me more than anything, especially as the paramedics had taped me (including my head) to the strecher, before lifting me from the scene of the accident. But no-one tackled the tangles at all until I was taken to St. George's in London. Then the tangles were finally sorted out properly, first by a couple of young student nurses, then the final snags were dealt with by Dauprine, a very capable nurse with almost superhuman strength. Bracing her foot against my shoulder (not really!), she put Diprobase cream in the matted bits to loosen the tangles, and got rid of the worst ones, then washed and conditioned my hair, which felt fantastic. The only casualty was one lock at the back, which ended up about four inches shorter than the rest of my hair. I am sure all of the lady poets out there will know how traumatic it all was; perhaps a few long-haired men will also wince in sympathy, perhaps not... ONE HELL OF A TRANSFER JOURNEY... Actually being transferred from Redhill to St. George's was very traumatic. When bits of you have become unhinged from their sockets - like my shoulder and hip on the left - being moved from stretcher to bed to another bed is very painful and frightening. The nurses try their best, they wrap you in a sheet and use four people or more to move you, but it still feels like being pulled apart. I must say though, that was the only time of really excruciating pain while I was there. Also having your bed made at a time like that, when you're still in the bed, can be painful. I soon learned to lift myself up by grabbing the "monkey pole", rather than rolling, when they made my bed. Mr. Day was the surgeon who performed my operation on the 18th of December. I did not meet him until the week I came home, but spoke to several of his associate doctors. They explained to me why I needed the traction, and why another operation might become necessary, if I begin to suffer acute pain later on. A MERRY LITTLE CHRISTMAS. Once I was settled in, the nurses made me as comfortable as possible, in an electric adjustable bed with an air matress, to avoid bed sores while I was in traction. I was in traction for three weeks. Three things saved me from going mad - one was having a place next to the window, with spectacular views over the Tooting area of London. Also I kept a hospital journal, just for something to do (too mundane to quote here). The third sanity-saving thing was a bedside TV unit with integral phone and internet. This device was so useful (even though it occasionally broke down) that I am going to include a free advertising link for their website here: http://www.patientline.co.uk Over the weeks that followed, my pain was not too bad. Pain seems to plateau, and the volume of aching bones only seems to be amplified first thing in the morning, when you start feeling like a very old person with rheumatism. Half an hour plus several painkillers later, a feeling of being almost normal kicks in. I must mention the nurses at this point, whose kindness made the time go more quickly. There were so many nice ones... Raj, Mai, Evelyn, Elizabeth, Dauprine, Julie, Alice, Faylin, Bola, Judith, Vincenta, Michael, Steve, Simon, Alison, Vergie, Dee... forgive me any of you whose names slipped my mind at the time of writing this. Also I very much enjoyed the company of two of the mealtime staff - Jerry ("Mr. Va Va Voom") and Lilian. Thanks you two for all the meals... some of which were surprisingly good, even though hospital food is not always much to look at, often it tastes fine. And - a special message to nurse Michael: thanks for all the bananas... I would also like to thank nurse Faylin for not persisting in using the electric saw when she removed the plaster cast on my wrist. Seeing my abject terror after scoring it with the saw, she reluctantly went to fetch the clippers instead and did a great job of removing the cast without removing any flesh from my arm. Thanks Fay! On Christmas day the nurses and domestic staff went to great lengths to ensure that we had a good Christmas atmosphere. They wore silly Santa hats and handed out presents to all the patients, just before breakfast. At lunchtime, which was a roast meal with turkey and cranberry sauce, they handed out crackers. Carol singers came round, ward to ward, singing their socks off. And Tom visited me, as he had been doing every day, but on Christmas day he brought all of my presents along, from friends and relatives. Throughout my entire stay there was plenty of practical help from occupational therapists, such as Dawn Osmond - thanks to Dawn I can get around the house without falling over, and dress myself easily. Also the physiotherapists were very kind and helpful - thank you all, especially Jenny and Jamie. It is good to be able to go up and down steps, albeit on one leg with crutches. HOME THOUGHTS... Kindest of all was Tom, my husband, who visited me every day with the exeption of one occasion when Balham Station was closed. He also kept me supplied with things like pot pasta, in case I didn't fancy some of the hospital meals. He took my homesickness in his stride. Homesickness was the only kind of pain that really got to me.... on my second week there I found that I could not utter the word "home" without breaking down: HOME © Sara L. Russell 2003 Home is the word that weighs too much to say Volumes of wistfulness to crush the tongue; A straining lid on tortures locked away, The word is uttered - and the catch is sprung. It paints vignettes of half-remembered scenes, Familiar quiet, between the brash and new, The tongue speaks it, the mind spells what it means, The apex of the spear is driven through. Flightless, we watch the free-scape of the sky, The window seems a picture on the wall; No more dimensions than what meets the eye No other lives but dreams hold us in thrall. When every last defence is stripped away, Home is the word that weighs too much to say. THE VIRTUE OF PATIENTS Many of the patients were great company - in particular I made friends with Joan Loft, Winnie Wingfield and Candice, whose surname escapes me, but with whom I had some great chats about life, ailments and broken limbs in general. I still stay in touch with Joan and Winnie by phone. See picture below of Joan Loft, taken shortly after Christmas. My parents took the picture. We had been pulling a few late crackers, hence the hat... Joan Loft, 29th Dec 2003. There was also a fiesty lady called Heather, who had a lot to say if she wasn't happy with something in the hospital. I had some great games of cards with her, and she kept beating me, but it certainly passed the time. Thanks Heather, and take care wherever you are. A MEMORABLE LADY... One patient in particular I will remember forever - Margaret Flanagan, who is 96. Many of the nurses in Gunning Ward are very fond of her too, because she sings - often - and remembers every word of every song, though she is not always able to remember things like what year it is. She is often cheeky to the nurses, saying things like "God that was horrible" when they give her medicine. She flits in and out of the present, to have conversations with people from her past, or to sing, or recite poems, to the amazement of all the other patients. She is a fascinating lady. Stephanie, one of her carers from the nursing home, tells me that she used to do little dances, as well as singing, before she broke her hip. I hope that one day soon she can walk again, at least with a frame. I wrote this poem for her: Reverie (for Margaret) by Sara L Russell, Jan. 20th, 2004 Put on the wings of time; Step into memory's slipstream,       feel it climb To times when you were beautiful enough to be bestowed with accolades and love. She does not know the year, But memory plays the songs       she used to hear, She sings aloud remembering each word until her soul is soaring like a bird. HOME AT LAST. Finally home now, I spend my days hopping around on crutches, cooking meals with Tom, and updating Poetry Life & Times. Occasionally a kind friend of mine, Vicki Carrington, takes me out to the shops, and Tom takes me out at weekends. It's amazing how strangers open doors for anyone on crutches or in a wheelchair. At the end of February I will be able to start putting weight on my left foot again, so can begin to start walking properly instead of hopping. I am also on a course of new physio sessions at Queen Victoria Hospital in East Grinstead. So by the end of Spring I should be fit again.... in the meantime I would like to thank all the physios at St. George's hospital for the great work they've done in getting me back on my feet - well, my right foot, anyway. Thanks guys! I will keep you all posted as to how my recovery goes - when anything significant happens....