The occupational therapist 👨🔬 was enthusiastically promoting the benefits of the zimmer and raised toilet seat 🚽 to someone of my disposition when my husband returned. I could see his eyes widen 👁 as I shimmied along on the zimmer, but it was the realisation that the raised toilet seat was also for me that made them water. He wanted to be subtle but his obvious horror🙀 was palpable. I knew he was doing everything he could to divert his thoughts from my ablutions and the assistance 🛀 he might need to provide. As I said in previous blogs, our marriage 💑 vows ( much like my hamstring) were being stretched to their limits.
I know him. His future flickered fleetingly before him; me in my tartan slippers, rolled down stockings, woolly housecoat and curlers 👵🏼. But that wasn’t his biggest worry, no he was wondering how the hell he was going to get this equipment out of the hospital and into his car without anyone 👤 seeing him. He didn’t hear a word any one said for the next ten minutes as he frantically worked out his escape plan.
I attempted to roll off the bed into my crutches with all the glamour and class 💃 of Marilyn Munro but in reality was more like Patsy from AbFab tumbling out of the car legs akimbo🤸♂️ with the Bolinger 🍾 unscathed. My husband had already disappeared conducting a surveillance of the immediate environs for anyone that might know him. Leaving me to pile my newly acquired household accessories high on the zimmer, much like a Thai flitting on a moped 🛵. I edged out of the cubicle hoping to achieve a seamless exit with a single manoeuvre, a big enough challenge without a hamstring injury. Needless to say I failed. 🌀
When he caught sight of me 😲, common sense returned momentarily as he put me on a seat, planked the gear at my side and revealed his detailed plan on how we could leave without fear of being noticed. This plan worked reasonably well until the electronic door 🚧 in the ambulance entrance closed behind him leaving me abandoned with the raised toilet seat in a hospital no man’s land. If it wasn’t for the morphine dulling my senses I would have cried, instead I sat there numbly 🤐waiting for the next ambulance to arrive and set me free.
In that moment of solitude I had time to digest the discharge 🤯 advice; to rest at least for 6 weeks, with the longer term repair likely to take up to 9 months. I’m a pretty active individual; was cycling 🚴♀️ , playing badminton 🏸, walking🚶♀️ and of course enjoying frequent holidays🌴🌞. Suddenly the enormity of this situation hit me; I was going no where fast in this corridor and it would be the same with this injury. It was going to significantly impact on my social, leisure and working life and I had no idea how I might get through it.🙊
Within minutes my hero 👼 was back, realising he’d lost me, laughing at himself and finally accepting the toilet seat 🚽 was his responsibility. In that moment I knew he would get me through this 💞and I was in awe of his commitment to me, while he grappled with more immediate matters. With a swift gaze around the exit, he swung the toilet seat over his shoulder shielding his face from the passing public and threw it in the boot. Such was his haste to escape unnoticed he drove 500yds before he realised the tailgate was still open and the whole world could see what was in the boot.🤣🤣🤣