War Wounds

Today, I went back to the surgeon to get my cast taken off (then had another cast, made of fibre glass (wooo wooo) put on).  Anyway, I managed to take a snap of my war wounds inbetween casts…

It’s bigger than what I thought it would be (that’s what she said).  Say hello to my gimp wrist…

war wound #1 war wound #2


Oddly, I was tempted to see if I could peel the skin back and have a look around inside. *Vomits.*

Fingers are crossed that it heals, because the next option is to remove the offending bone and fuse my wrist together with sellotape and superglue. This will mean one arm will be half an inch shorter than the other!

Jeremy Beadle eat your heart out…I’m gonna need to work on the goatee.


Left handed post

I had that operation on my wrist last Wednesday.  This was the second operation on the same bone as the bone graft I had last year didn’t heal as it should’ve, so this time he was doing a blood vessel bone graft thingy majig.

As with last years operation I was told there is only a 75% chance of it healing.  But this was lowered further when I spoke to the surgeon afterwards who said “your blood vessels are what I’d expect to see in a 60 year old smoker.  I’m not confident of it healing as your bone didn’t look too good either…it’s about a 50/50 chance it’ll heal”.

Given I’m not 60 and Ive never smoked it’s not exactly what I expected to hear. But I didn’t expect to hear ‘you’ve had a heart attack’, either, so nothing is surprising me at the min!

Add my dodgy blood vessels to my dodgy heart, then maybe I’ve got some mad Benjamin Button thing going on?  It would certainly account for my lethargic, sloth like, nature since my teens….

The wrist and my heart shit have started to catch up with me in the past week though. I’m starting to feel a bit trapped by it all (I can’t do this/I can’t do too much of that etc, don’t forget to take your tablets – I took 19 tablets the other day. 19!).  I think cabin fever is setting in.  Now my wrist is covered in a cast that just adds to more things I can’t do.  Although, I think I’ve only just shook off the after affects of the anaesthetic/painkillers 6 days later, so that probably hasn’t helped my mood since I came out of hospital.  And although I’m supposed to limit myself to 2 units of alcohol per day, it’s my birthday on Thursday so I’m in 2 minds whether to have a few (which will turn into several) drinks or not and shake off the doldrums (I havent had a drop of alcohol for 3 months and said I wouldn’t drink again until at least after id seen the cardiologist again in May…dum dum duuuumm).

In the meantime I keep wondering what type of scar I have under my cast.  I know there are two (one zorro shaped one from last year which he said he’d open up again and there should be a new 2 inch scar on top of my wrist).  Having a scar is always good addition for any man.  I just need to invent an animal attack story to go along with it. It’s got to be better than the rather pathetic “I fell off the couch and needed a bajillion operations to fix myself again”

End of left handed, one finger, dad typing, post…2 hours after I wrote that first paragraph. Sigh.


I’m going back into work on Monday…after being off for the past seven weeks.  Seven weeks!  Thankfully I’m going back three days a week for the rest of the month so I’ll be taking it easy…and making the most of being able to say no to things for a while.

“I can’t do that, I’ve got to take it easy…doctors orders” will become my most used phrase.

The cardiologist I seen this week said he has no concerns at the minute, not even that I feel my heart flutter/do a mini jump a few times a day – which is a bit unnerving when it happens – but he wasn’t bothered about it so it must be normal.  I go to see him again in three months to do a shit load more tests when he’ll be able to tell if the heart has repaired itself.

On top of adjusting to my heart being a bit rubbish, I went to see the hand surgeon again on Monday and I need to have a second operation on my wrist. Last years surgery didn’t work.  So he’s cutting me open again and doing some other ‘bone graft attached to blood vessels’ thing in my wrist next month. Joy of joys.

Although I feel good in myself, I could do with going out and getting shit-faced, but I can’t.  Like the rest of the world, I’ve been advised against “binge drinking”, but in my situation having more than a couple could course problems at the minute. “Everything in moderation: a couple of units are ok”…which I translate to: it’s not even worth it. I’d drink them before the barmaid had had a chance to give me back my change.  Weekends just aren’t the same…but I’ll be back!

Before Christmas, when I’d send an email to the family in the UK telling them I’d done something brilliant over here, I’d always sign off ‘living the dream’.  Now I’m just signing off with an alive/dead status: “Living…”

Yes, I am that funny.

(I realise that last paragraph doesn’t fit in with anything else in this post, but sod it. It just popped into my head and made me laugh).