Dr Footz and the twilight zone

So after finding out the exciting news that I probably couldn't have done more damage to one part of my body if I'd tried, I then got the delightful news that I was going to need surgery (oh god), but before that in order to put the cast on my leg, I'd have to have my ankle 'manipulated'.  Well didn't that sound fun?  Not to worry, I was going to be put into some sort of twilight state so I wouldn't remember what had happened.  Pain is conscious they told me.  All I know is that the morphine was wearing off and I would prefer to be unconscious.  

So the BFF and I got moved to the resus room(!) (don't worry about the name they said).  I was terrified about them having to manipulate my foot, I couldn't understand how I wouldn't feel it if I wasn't anaesthetised?  The Doctor kept telling me I wouldn't remember it.  I was also slightly worried about what I would say in this twilight state - there are many odd thought going around in my head at any given time.  So the BFF was sent out (which is a shame as snapchatting this would have been hilarious).  I was determined to prove them all wrong and remember everything, but all I remember is feeling really relaxed and sleepy and looking at my foot a couple of times, but nothing else.  When they bought me back to reality, one of the Nurses told me I had talked about Keith Urban a lot and made odd noises like 'yip yip yip'.  So I woke up with no memory, a manipulated ankle,  a fetching plaster cast and a BFF eating a Summer Roll at the end of my foot.

Then I was told that the Orthopaedic Surgeon (I shall call him Dr Footz) had been alerted to my broken bits and then just as I asked if I would see him today (it was a Saturday after all) he emerged through the double doors.

It was like he said everything I didn't want to hear:

'admit you to hospital now'

'surgery tomorrow to put in plates and screws'

'will need to stay in hospital for a few days after the operation'

'you won't be able to walk on your foot for three months'

'this is going to be a very long recovery - 12 months'

'you might always have a limp and a scar'

'you need to have another surgery in 12 weeks to take out some of the screws'

'lots of physio for 12 months'

'Harry Styles will cut his hair soon'

Well he didn't say that last one but he could have popped that in and it would have been the same reaction.

I felt that at the end of everything he said there was a little explosion noise and the poor BFF was getting her hand squashed more and more as I listened.  Luckily she was there though and asked the most important question of them all 'will she be okay for the Keith Urban concerts in December?'  Dr Footz then looked at us slightly concerned and said 'how many concerts are there?'  When I told him six I think he was about to call the psych team on us.  He probably thought our priorities were askew - I think they were just right.

So after promises of seeing Dr Footz tomorrow (yay) he went off (probably shaking his head about these two insane girls) and I was wheeled off to the ward.  Minus my pants (side note you know how your mother always told you not to leave the house unless you are wearing clean underwear?  Do that), a lovely breeze blowing and still wearing my lovely RSPCA volunteer shirt.  The photo of me in the wheelchair going to the Ward is the worst picture, but the pain I was in was awful.  Also they tried once again to use my foot to keep the elevator doors open.

Finally I was in my room with my leg propped up on Mt Everest.  Still with no pants.  Bring on the drugs and bring on the surgery tomorrow.  Also sent the BFF home to bring some pants.

PS.  Thank you so much to my BFF.  Without her there that day I don't know what I would have done.  #sheisthebest