Dancing the Naked Hornpipe
Nobody tells you when you embark on the post surgery journey that sleep may become optional. As I have alluded to before I am a strict 8 hours a night man, more if possible, 10 or even 12 hours have been known.
Of course in the days after surgery you can expect sleep to be fairly erratic but then a hefty dose of opiate based pain killer nearly always sorts that nonsense out post haste. Another reason for erratic sleeping can be the aforementioned claustrophobia of the foot when encased immovably in a plaster cast and this certainly has been the case. I couldn't wait to get Horris...the plaster cast, I've been very remiss in doing updates so you may have forgotten that for reasons best forgotten I called the plaster cast Horris...I couldn't wait to get him removed and consigned to whatever hell is reserved for evil plaster casts.
I had luxuriated in a bath and spent a pleasurable half an hour or so removing dead skin and I was now back in the bed having eaten tea, watched TV and settled down for a solid eight hours of the deep and dreamless. First thing to do is to remove the boot, the wee Scots doctor had told me I could sleep without the boot
"If yer nae too lively during the night there'll be nae problem taking yon boot off, but have yer crutches close by ye ken, we cannae have ye standing aboot on that foot now"
This may be taking the accent a tad too far but he was definitely both ginger and from north of the border so as far as I am concerned he's fair game. It was playing on my mind that the doctor had told me that I could take the boot off if I wasn't a 'lively sleeper' how the fuck would I know, by definition I'm asleep, I could be dancing the naked hornpipe every night for all I know. I removed the boot and laid me down to sleep... my foot was having none of this.
"What if you jump out of bed, hmm, hmm have you thought of that. What if you get cramp, what's going to happen to me then, hey?"
I considered this and without further ado put the boot back on so my foot was securely and immovably encased in plastic
This relieved my feelings considerably and I lay down to sleep...and my foot started the whole toe static, pins and needles shit. My toes were obviously missing Horris as they had, without any permission from me, invited the side of my foot to join in.
Now the left side of my foot...that is a completely unnecessary 'now', added for no other reason than it is residing in my head, as far as grammar goes it serves no purpose...however...jeez now however is getting in on the act...right, or in this case the left side of my foot is graced by a large scar, I am reliably informed by the interweb that this is where the tendon was reattached but that could be hearsay. They obviously did a fair bit of rummaging around on that side as it extends nearly the length of my, admittedly tiny, foot which has taken exception to this particular indignity. So within ten minutes I had removed the boot and exposed said scar to the atmosphere.
It's a bit numb and it has the aforementioned pins and needles to the max, more importantly it does not like sheets, not keen on blankets, it's even a little bit haughty about the air. It likes to make its presence felt as soon as I do anything as stupid as trying to sleep.
"I don't like this sheet, could you just sleep on your other side?"
I oblige and turn over,
"Ooh no, not keen on having any weight on me", So I dangle my foot out of side of bed covered by the blanket,
"This blankets, too, well, blankety, could you remove it", I remove the blanket and hold the foot in mid air,
"Lovely, just stay like that", of course the rest of my body is vociferously complaining by now
"Don't be stupid how am I supposed to get to sleep like this"
Then the toes will join in "Hoy, remember us, well we're getting cold and demand to be stuck under a blanket"
"Ooh I don't like this blanket could you sleep on your other side"
This will continue for hours until in exasperation I get up, make a cup of tea and watch some wibble on Netflix.
It didn't just continue for hours it continued for nearly three weeks at the end of which sleep was a distant memory and I was starting to have waking dreams where I hacked the fucking thing off with a butter knife. This is probably the reason for the lack of bloggage, the wet porridge that has been masquerading as my brain just refused to cooperate.
We are now on the far side of all this, with many exciting things having happened in the meantime, I've had two days holiday and ended up sanding about 50 acres of floor in the living room. The boot has become spattered with paint as apparently once you have sanded 50 acres of floor you are required to paint a room the size of the Albert Hall, at least that's what it felt like. I have drilled very accurately straight through a live wire whilst standing on a metal ladder. But these are all stories for another day
Ta ta
Charlie
Of course in the days after surgery you can expect sleep to be fairly erratic but then a hefty dose of opiate based pain killer nearly always sorts that nonsense out post haste. Another reason for erratic sleeping can be the aforementioned claustrophobia of the foot when encased immovably in a plaster cast and this certainly has been the case. I couldn't wait to get Horris...the plaster cast, I've been very remiss in doing updates so you may have forgotten that for reasons best forgotten I called the plaster cast Horris...I couldn't wait to get him removed and consigned to whatever hell is reserved for evil plaster casts.
I had luxuriated in a bath and spent a pleasurable half an hour or so removing dead skin and I was now back in the bed having eaten tea, watched TV and settled down for a solid eight hours of the deep and dreamless. First thing to do is to remove the boot, the wee Scots doctor had told me I could sleep without the boot
"If yer nae too lively during the night there'll be nae problem taking yon boot off, but have yer crutches close by ye ken, we cannae have ye standing aboot on that foot now"
This may be taking the accent a tad too far but he was definitely both ginger and from north of the border so as far as I am concerned he's fair game. It was playing on my mind that the doctor had told me that I could take the boot off if I wasn't a 'lively sleeper' how the fuck would I know, by definition I'm asleep, I could be dancing the naked hornpipe every night for all I know. I removed the boot and laid me down to sleep... my foot was having none of this.
"What if you jump out of bed, hmm, hmm have you thought of that. What if you get cramp, what's going to happen to me then, hey?"
I considered this and without further ado put the boot back on so my foot was securely and immovably encased in plastic
Now the left side of my foot...that is a completely unnecessary 'now', added for no other reason than it is residing in my head, as far as grammar goes it serves no purpose...however...jeez now however is getting in on the act...right, or in this case the left side of my foot is graced by a large scar, I am reliably informed by the interweb that this is where the tendon was reattached but that could be hearsay. They obviously did a fair bit of rummaging around on that side as it extends nearly the length of my, admittedly tiny, foot which has taken exception to this particular indignity. So within ten minutes I had removed the boot and exposed said scar to the atmosphere.
It's a bit numb and it has the aforementioned pins and needles to the max, more importantly it does not like sheets, not keen on blankets, it's even a little bit haughty about the air. It likes to make its presence felt as soon as I do anything as stupid as trying to sleep.
"I don't like this sheet, could you just sleep on your other side?"
I oblige and turn over,
"Ooh no, not keen on having any weight on me", So I dangle my foot out of side of bed covered by the blanket,
"This blankets, too, well, blankety, could you remove it", I remove the blanket and hold the foot in mid air,
"Lovely, just stay like that", of course the rest of my body is vociferously complaining by now
"Don't be stupid how am I supposed to get to sleep like this"
Then the toes will join in "Hoy, remember us, well we're getting cold and demand to be stuck under a blanket"
"Ooh I don't like this blanket could you sleep on your other side"
This will continue for hours until in exasperation I get up, make a cup of tea and watch some wibble on Netflix.
It didn't just continue for hours it continued for nearly three weeks at the end of which sleep was a distant memory and I was starting to have waking dreams where I hacked the fucking thing off with a butter knife. This is probably the reason for the lack of bloggage, the wet porridge that has been masquerading as my brain just refused to cooperate.
We are now on the far side of all this, with many exciting things having happened in the meantime, I've had two days holiday and ended up sanding about 50 acres of floor in the living room. The boot has become spattered with paint as apparently once you have sanded 50 acres of floor you are required to paint a room the size of the Albert Hall, at least that's what it felt like. I have drilled very accurately straight through a live wire whilst standing on a metal ladder. But these are all stories for another day
Ta ta
Charlie
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