Today I hand back my Power Foot and feel all emotional!

Way back in February, the 17th to be precise I did a slightly stupid thing. I took a shortcut down a grassy slope that was a bit wet rather than following the paved path to my local post office. Its the kind of thing I have done loads of times being a maverick with no respect for the rules ;o)

But this time fate decided to call my bluff. I slipped and arms windmilling madly skidded to the bottom of the slope and landed in a muddy undignified heap.

A little old lady stopped and concernedly enquired if I was alright. I replied that yes I was and not to worry. I thought I was fine apart from my furiously blushing cheeks. She watched as I picked myself up and winced a bit as I put weight on my right ankle. "Are you sure you are ok love?" She asked. "Of course" I manfully replied whilst trying to look like James Bond who has deliberately rolled down a hill to catch a spy.

She tootled off and I gingerly limped home. My ankle/foot was a little painful but I had faced worse. Back home I regaled my family with tales of swishing down hills on a sea of mud and happily embroidered my tale until finally fessing up that I had only slid about four feet down a tiny slope. All was well and later I went to sleep with nary a care in the world.

I woke up in the middle of the night, a little disoriented. What had woke me? A second or so later as my brain caught up with my body the pain from my foot hit me. It was nasty, so bad that it made me feel sick and confused. Hot flippity damn I thought. It's to the Doctor's I go.

Even getting to the doctors was a nightmare. I couldn't drive and it is some distance away. So I had to get a cab and endure the torture of a Glasgow cab drivers conversation.

"Ye hurt yur fit aye?" He asks as I crawl/hop to the back seat. translation - Goodness, did you hurt your foot my good fellow?
"Aye, fell doon ah hill" says I, trying to remember my Glesga (Glasgow) street speak
"Ye take a riddy man?" translation - Were you somewhat embarrassed?
"Aye, a pure beamer" translation - Yes, I was slightly shamefaced
"The nick ay ye walkin oot man, ah wis lit at, aw here!" translation - My astonishment was plain to see at your discomfort

By the time I hobbled out of the taxi I had slipped so badly into Glasgow character that I sounded like a seagull swallowing a frog.

The doctor was disinterested. "Looks like torn ligaments, you are getting to that age I suppose."
What? Age?! - I am barely in my forties and I am getting to that age? Pfft, rubbish doctor bastard I thought. He called for a non emergency ambulance and I was shipped off to the minor injuries unit at my local hospital.

Here at least they didn't impugn my age. A quick xray and some enthusiastic probing of my increasingly swollen foot and they concurred with the Doctor. The xray showed a chip of bone had become detached too.

So they introduced me to the power foot

Was I reduced to this, a pathetic hobbling half robo-cop? They led me through how to inflate it, yes it has little inflatable bags inside to support a buggered limb. I tried to walk in it, but no luck. So I got crutches too and was ordered to elevate it and not to walk without the power foot. And this began the start of many months of being house bound.

Four weeks of sitting on the couch playing Fallout 4 on my xbox and eating chocolate and crisps I had waved farewell to my 'two pack' and now a paunchier sadder me stobbled up to the hospital, power foot on and crutches waving about not quite majestically.

The results were not good. Not much healing, hmm they said. More time, yes they said. Might be his age one of them mumbled .. Quit with the age shit!.

I spent another four weeks on the couch, eating the occasional bowl of noodles or pasta in between chocolate, painkillers and crisps. I was at a low ebb to say the least. I was getting better at walking with the power foot but was still in quite substantial pain. I would like to say at this point I had a revelation or was inspired by some higher power but no. I was just a depressed lump of self pity.

Back at the doctors this time eight weeks since the fall. The doctor looked at my aubergine of a foot with some distaste. More drugs was about as much as he was could do and to come back in four weeks. During this time I hit various highs and lows as I attempted to walk and my foot stubbornly refused to heal. Two weeks in and a total of ten weeks I went stomping back and insisted something must be done.

You might never fully recover he said blandly as if he were discussing the weather.

I was aghast and in the manner of the worst TV dramas asked for a second opinion. His manner became decidedly frosty but he arranged an appointment with a second doctor. An hour later I saw the second doctor, a cheery lady. She looked at my foot and winced and sent me straight back to hospital.

They xray'd it and said that mechanically it was fine but there was a lot of scarring. I was whooshed over to Physio.

And there I met Laura, my physio. An unassuming slightly harried woman who looked at my foot and was the first person in the medical profession to look the least bit sympathetic. "Ouch," she said. "I bet that hurts!"
"Yes, it does"
"Well what do you expect from me?" she asked brightly "Go on, you can be as honest as you like!"
"Errm, I am hoping you will help me walk properly without crutches and limping?"
"Excellent!" She exclaimed "I will do exactly that and if you do your part you will be better in no time"
"How long is no time?" Said I, a little scared of the answer.
"Twelve weeks, most likely."

So a little slip and tumble looked to be causing almost half a year of incapacity. I was bereft, was there no end in sight? I had had enough of
sitting on the couch eating chocolate and co-codamol so threw myself into the plan she gave me.

It was hard, I won't lie - there were stretches, there were strange elastic band exercises. There was balancing act types of things. At one point I wondered if I was learning ballet. Through it all, every two weeks I reported in and she was excited about my progress. Four weeks in she looked at my power foot. "You wear this when you walk outside? All the time?"
"Yes, the doctor says to wear it until completely healed"
"Hmm, I don't really believe in that kind of thing, Stop wearing it and stop using the crutches too"

I did, the pain was bad, my walking pace was so slow that everyone overtook me. I was miserable but determined and kept going. I stuck at it. Thankfully it didn't take the full twelve weeks. Ten weeks in I knew I was finally getting better.

Cut to now, several months later. I can walk, dance sing and jump. A letter arrived from the hospital; it rather sternly demanded the return of the power foot, telling me in no uncertain terms that these things cost almost a hundred pounds to replace. I felt a pang as I lifted the big plastic monstrosity from the back of the cupboard where I had almost deliberately hidden it from myself. At times earlier in the year I never thought I would get back to being my able bodied and walking self but eventually, thanks to my physio and the good old healing power of nature I did. So in a long winded way I guess I just want to say that you should never give up, even when depression bites and it looks like things are never going to get better.

Today I returned my power foot and I used some of my hard earned steem to send some flowers to the hospital for my Physio. She made such a difference to me, I am eternally grateful. And it might seem as if it wasn't that serious compared to some illnesses but I have never been so helpless and if I had just listened you the doctor i would have gave up and thats all I can say to anyone who has braved to read this far. Don't give up, keep trying, whether its an injury or even here on steemit. Try and keep trying.

Ooft, bit of a departure for me this post. Dont worry, tomorrow I will put up a recipe :O)