Annus Horribilis

Plans were afoot. There was talk of a trip to Snowdonia at the end of September, I had rejoined the Institute of Advanced Motorists in order to retake my advanced driving test, and I had started to play badminton regularly. In addition, there were a number of things I wanted to do in the autumn, call it a bucket list if you like. Then it all went wrong.

Perhaps regularly was a slight exaggeration with the badminton; after 25 minutes I ruptured my achilles tendon, and the tiny flame that was going to grow into the blazing fire of my new life was suddenly extinguished.

A trip to A & E followed - my third of the year, but my first as a patient - and fortunately within two and a half hours I was back at home, with my leg in plaster. The next day, I hobbled off to the trauma clinic, where the full seriousness of the injury was revealed to me. I knew it was a long job, but I wasn't expecting 10 weeks in plaster, followed by perhaps another month unable to drive, and of course lots of physiotherapy.

Not surprisingly, I got home and promptly fell apart. I just couldn't cope with the past or the future. My GP prescibed me anti-depressants, which initially had the effect of numbing my emotions, and now are just about keeping my head above water. At the time of writing I'm 23 days into my 70 day ordeal (assuming that 10 weeks is an accurate assessment). The only way I can deal with the rest of the year is to completely write it off. Anything fun is a bonus. I've just got to get through it, somehow.

A couple of days after my injury, and the start of my enforced confinement, I realised I had to cry for help, asking my friends to rally round. I don't like doing this, it's really not me. Some of my friends have been really, really kind. My biggest problem is boredom and loneliness; I was lonely before for obvious reasons, but now it's much worse. Just having people come round for a coffee, or even better taking me out to lunch, is brilliant and I can't thank you enough.

47 days to go, and I'm honestly not convinced I'm going to make it mentally intact. I've started working again, but only just under 4 hours a day. It's easy enough to do, but somehow it makes the rest of the day seem more pointless. I hope my friends, including those who seem to have forgotten about me, will help me through it.

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