A Christmas Fracture

Christmas Eve – 24th December 2017:

Took my new power kite down to the local high school field, laid out all the lines and got it
in the air. Three minutes later, thinking I had mastered the control of this beast, I fancied
some air time. Jumping up hard, I took off, and came back to earth about 5 seconds later
and 20 feet away, with a loud CRACK!
Yelled, crumpled, crashed the kite. Right foot flops around, broken.
Crawled across the field to my rucksack, grabbed my phone and called Dad for help. 30
minutes later I’m in A&E at Royal Preston Hospital. I am managed wonderfully, particularly
as I knew two of the staff. Fast service, mince pies, cup of tea; they couldn’t do enough for
me. Although apparently a slug of ketamine was out of the question.
I have fractured my medial malleolus and lateral malleolus – with an angulated distal
portion of fibula. This will require surgery to reduce and fix the bones together with a metal
plate and screws. I’m told I might get done on Boxing Day.

I’m moved up to the Orthopaedic ward and greeted by two young Spanish nurses with a
smile and a groin swab. Our introduction is rudely interrupted however by the patient in the
next bed, Albert, having a respiratory arrest. Most inconsiderate, he causes a few minutes of
flapping by the nursing staff. After the ‘Anaesthetic SHO’ has been called, they retrieve
some bits of biscuit out of his throat and he comes round.
Later on I have the time to get to know Paula and Giulia from Catalonia; watching them
work in their uniforms I realise they really are very skilled in their ability to induce bone
growth.
Christmas Day – 25th December 2017:
The age of the 3 other occupants in the bay totals 247 years, and smells like it.
David, 82, pretends to die this morning by holding his breath. Nurses not impressed.
Albert, 87, tells me that he has 2 cats; Thomas and Milly, which are 14lb and 13lb in weight,
respectively. He states they are ‘big uns’.
It is a strange Christmas. I have 9 visitors in total, not counting the Salvation Army and their
brass band. A Healthcare Assistant dresses up as Father Christmas and dishes out Lynx
deodorant as gifts. It cannot combat the odour of the ward.
Christmas dinner is somewhat subdued on my own. There is no cauliflower, which I consider
to be a traditional accompaniment. The pigs in blankets are nice.
Boxing Day – 26th December 2017:
A new patient, Colin, enters the bay today and threatens to overtake my place on the
trauma operating list with his fractured Neck of Femur – a more serious injury. In my head I
plan to break his other hip if he does so.
He takes the place of Harold, who we are told has been ‘transferred to Chorley’. It is unclear
whether this is euphemism for passed away, but either way I suspect Chorley is somewhere
people go to die.
Like an elephant graveyard but for Northerners.
I am on the operating list, but it’s busy. No one is sure if it will happen today.
About 11:00 I am told that there’s no chance, and allowed to eat.
In the spirit of Christmas I get released for a few hours with some crutches. I go home to sit
and wait somewhere else for a bit, then I come back.
The day after Boxing Day – 27th December 2017:
Once again I am ‘Nil by Mouth’ – which means I’m not allowed to eat, talk or perform
fellatio. I consume and say nothing all day.
At 17:25 a porter comes to collect me for theatre – Thank God! I had almost given up hope.
The anaesthetist gives me the magical, milky white Propofol, and I experience a strange
taste at the back of the mouth which I would describe as a bit like mouthwash, and I feel like
my legs are floating off the bed, before I drift off to sleep.
My next memory is not clear but is of a Native American recovery nurse asking me to wake
up. This is strange, I have never even met a Red Indian before. The surgeon comes round
before he goes home and we have a conversation about the operation, I can remember
none of it.
I am week and woozy post-operatively. Feels like my blood sugar is low (I haven’t eaten for
>24hrs), but no one checks this, and I don’t want to bother them.
It’s a disturbed night in the bay, I feel unwell and cannot sleep.
David has been snoring loudly all night, to the dismay of the rest of us. To top it off, at 05:00
he releases a week’s worth of faeces and smears it all over the bed. Hats off to the
Healthcare Assistants for clearing that up.
The nightly disturbance has caused Albert to start sleep-talking during the early hours. He
tells us that he must “feed fish to an angel” and that “someone needs to check both ends on
the green one”. Light relief, but David’s stench lingers.
At 06:00 Colin now kicks off in pain. His agonising moans and pained breathing develop into
hallucinations; he reaches out and calls for non-existent people.
I’d be happy to prescribe him some stronger pain relief, maybe even overprescribe, but I
believe it’s against hospital policy for patients to treat other patients, especially when they
are still recovering from a general anaesthetic.
A crazy night, everyone else in the bay has caused some sort of disturbance. Maybe it’s my
turn next?
Should I wank and throw it at a nurse, just to fit in?
07:45: no need. I spill my pot of piss over the bedside table, including on top of the
Christmas turkey sandwiches that my mother brought.
Clean it up please, nurse.
An anaesthetist visits Colin this morning for his Pre-op assessment. Turns out that Colin is a
Jehovah’s Witness, and he refuses to have a blood transfusion, even in a life-threatening
situation. Crazy. This may explain the hallucinations earlier.
The day after the day after Boxing Day – 28th December 2017:
I am discharged after 4 days in hospital. The pain is starting to kick in now and I can
understand why bone screws were a successful torture method in the past.
Happy New Year!
Barry