Purple is the new orange

The scabby deformed object
formerly known as my left foot.

I have both good news and bad news to report today after this morning’s hospital visit.  First the good news: they removed my orange cast, which had started to smell like a particularly fetid tramp.  The bad news: they replaced it with another – purple – one, which will be with me for another month.  Although Anita might disagree - she really didn't like the smell, whilst I had got used to it (a sort of comforting dribbly-pillow odour) - on balance, the bad news far outweighs the good.

Some observations from this morning’s session in the orthopaedic clinic. First, the machine they use to remove the plaster cast is awesome.  Its like a circular saw, but which vibrates instead of rotating.  It will cut through solid plastic and plaster of paris with ease, but has no effect on anything soft. I had a couple of minutes' worth of fun with the Welsh plaster technician slicing through the plaster and then pressing the lethal looking blade into my hand.  (The orthopaedic clinic is wild – wild I tell you). Second, and I’m sorry for banging on about this, but things really could be worse. This morning I was nearly run over by a small one-legged boy - maybe seven years old at most - doing wheelies in his wheelchair whilst his mum chased him down the corridor waving his prosthetic leg.  He high-fived all the doctors and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself. Inspiring and humbling in equal measure.  Third, a foot which has been left unwashed, and encased in plaster for three months, is really, really minging.  When they first removed the orange cast I gazed in wonder at the deformed scabby object that used to be my left foot.  I picked tentatively at what looked like a thick coating of wax and was amazed as a huge flap of dead skin effortlessly peeled away in my hand.  I handed it to the plaster technician for disposal – she assured me she had seen much worse, although she might just have been being nice.  I thought it was too good not to share, so apologies if any of you opened today's post whilst eating.

I had a lengthy conversation with the doctor about why my leg is healing so slowly. Apparently its all to do with the way my Tibia (shin bone) broke – essentially diagonally along its length – which means a lot of the outer layer of bone, which contains the blood vessels essential for re-growth, were stripped away.  When I asked him if it was normal for a fractured Tibia to take this long he replied “well, it really was quite a bad fracture”. That made me feel pretty good about myself, I have to admit.  Long term I’ve been advised not to ski until twelve months post-break, which pretty much rules out next season.  I am completely gutted, although am seriously considering a snow-shoeing holiday as the next best thing.  When it came to the short-term prognosis I put my foot down (pun intended) and insisted I had to be out of plaster by 4 August - our departure date for a three week trip to the US. As luck would have it they had a free appointment on 3 August, and I am now booked in for full plaster removal.  By then I will have been in plaster for a third of this year.  Wednesday 3 August can not – I stress, can not – come soon enough.