My bruises have gone, and my scar is all but healed. However, things are still Quite A Bit Wrong, and seemingly not improving.
Things are not supposed to click, crunch or ping when I stand up; things shouldn’t feel as though they’re moving around inside there when I move. I really shouldn’t still be wheelchair-bound if I need to leave the house.
The Fox & Raven, our favourite watering hole
I woke up feeling really well rested and relaxed, yesterday morning – only to get out of bed and have my hip make sounds that no part of the body should ever make. Not being one to panic (and ever-concious of the plight of the NHS) I chose not to go to A&E because I don’t consider this to be worthy of an ambulance trip. Instead, I called my surgery and requested a telephone consultation, which has just occurred. Some hip patients genuinely do never walk again, but I’m not even 45 yet and so this would be unusual in a person my age.
With all of that said, I have recently been informed that I’m showing a lot of telling signs for osteoporosis (which can be brought on by hormone imbalances, age – especially in women – and certain medications, all of which I am taking for life). My survival of liver cirhossis could also be a factor. I’m waiting to hear about a DEXA scan, which will determine my bone density. Of course, if my consultant is correct, that means there are medications to control the speed of bone deterioration, but I will also have to accept that I’m never going to walk unaided again.
This blog entry may sound all doom and gloom, only it isn’t. I refuse to get all down in the doldrums about what may well be my new reality. Pain aside, I’m generally okay with this – why wouldn’t I be? I was disabled anyway, so it’s not going to make a whole lot of difference to my life. Being in wheels could even save me from potential falls during seizures – keeping me safe from doing something so serious again. That’s a plus, right? Of course it is! And I can bling up my wheelchair to suit me! Also, there are adult services that can supply me with kitchen and bathroom aids if needed, so I’m never going to be rendered helpless.
As it happens, my good friend Alex and myself are already concocting ways to work the chair into shenanigans… you just can’t make us two behave when we get together!
I have to call the hospital to book an appointment, apparently, and so my GP obviously either thinks it isn’t serious or believes it isn’t fixable if I have the aforementioned osteoporosis; my consultant will have copied him into that letter with his concerns and suspicions.
Now, does anybody know how to make a walking stick holster and attach it to a wheelchair? Curious minds want to know!