Don’t let the lame leg rain on your parade. It’s amazing how much fun can be had in a wheelchair and/or on crutches (though personally I strongly recommend borrowing a folding wheelchair!) This gallery is a celebration of flamingo partying. Single ladies, don’t despair – a bright pink cast is a great talking point. Sooo many nice men come to talk to you. And to think I was sure this injury would take me off the flirting/dating scene for a bit!
Those of you who know me well will no doubt affirm that I’m a paragon of politeness. Or, at least, I do really, really try to be – generally I think I may be working against my better nature, but aren’t we all? So I’m not particularly good at asking for anything.
Actually, that’s not true. In a work setting, I am great at asking. Or telling. Maybe a bit too vocal on both counts, actually. But like most people, I approach my private life with a slightly more laissez-faire attitude.
Cast Away
The original ‘you’ll be stuck in the full-length cast for six weeks’ prognosis turned out to be wishful thinking. When I turned up at the hospital 10 days ago, excited and ready to cast off, I was told to come back in four weeks. I was more than a bit disappointed, but having got a reasonable explanation when I probed the registrar, I dusted myself down and crutched off into the sunset.
That was that, until my knowledgeable doctor friend explained that it wasn’t necessarily the only option. I could ask them to reconsider. Which honestly had not occurred to me!
So, following his advice, I made a few phone calls, got through to my consultant’s secretary and wheedled an email address out of her (I’m so much better on paper). Then, I made my case to move into a knee-length cast sooner… please, if at all possible.
Result! I’ve had a reply from him, which offers a fair compromise. The balance is between keeping my lower leg stable (good), and not losing any more muscle, gaining stiffness, and extending my recuperation (bad). I now have permission to graduate to a hinged knee cast brace – not entirely sure what this is going to look like, but I’ve been told it will let me bend my knee, which is all I need to know! Now I just have to keep my fingers crossed I get booked in to the plaster room asap; ideally, before the four weeks are up anyway. Time (and my leg)’s a wastin’!
Obviously this one requires a bit of forward thinking (ie, if you choose a cast colour that matches nothing in your wardrobe/cosmetics drawer, it could be somewhat costly) but breaks the boredom. With the exception of a couple of cringeworthily bad choices while in hospital (red t-shirt? What was I thinking?) I’ve gone for an 80s ballerina combo. It may sound like a fashion statement, but it’s actually very logical. I’m a tall girl, and I don’t like the cast getting too warm, so if I wore full-length trackies, that would mean one hell of a left-leg rollup. On the other hand, if I wear shorts, I have a good 36in of leg to cover. And there aren’t many socks that long. Believe me, I’ve looked. So, every outfit is based around the bottom half.
Viable options I can live with:
Pink and grey sportswear + legwarmers + one leg rolled up + I like to scrape my hair back so I can see where I’m crutching = I might as well go the whole hog and rock the ballet chic look with a messy bun. For evenings out, I just ramp up the colours. It’s the only way I can live with going out in sportswear.
Nails
Sally Slingback – this one is all down to you. Shamed into tidying up my toes, I took advantage of a friend’s drunken generosity to get a perfectly co-ordinated pedi. And guess what. Everyone compliments me on it! Oddly enough, it draws attention away from the shrivelled toes; I would have expected the opposite. You live and learn 🙂
As a journalist, you tend to end up with some pretty random freebies – especially as a food writer. Sometimes, I’m flabbergasted at quite how inventive (or random) companies can be in their quest to get us to part with our hard-earned cash. Wrap-N-Mat was one of those items everybody regarded with a certain amount of suspicion when it appeared in the office. The idea was sound: a cloth wrap, lined with food-safe (and PVC-free) plastic, that held a sandwich together well, and converted into a little eating mat to prevent wearing the filling on your trousers. But it wasn’t exactly sexy. And, more to the point, it wasn’t a box of chocolates, a bottle of wine or some really top-notch quinoa…
Being open-minded (or possibly just a scavenger), I retrieved one of these from the table of many freebies, when it had been sitting there so long I felt rather sorry for it. And I used it a few times. Then I stopped eating sandwiches on some bread-free kick for a while, slipped it in a drawer and forgot about it.
What a carry on
Sandwiches seemed like such a perfect flamingo food. Portable, easy to make, simple to eat… although not really, when you think about it. Actually, pasta salad travels better in a tupperware than a sandwich, and unless you use a massive box, you end up festooned with crumbs. Pulling off clingfilm – even if I liked using it (which I really don’t) – or tinfoil is tricky enough with two hands… And then you’re adding to the waste disposal requirements, already the toughest job facing the casted lady. So a reusable option was a necessity.
Inspired by a flash of something or other, I recalled the lurking Wrap-N-Mat. Controlling my vehement dislike of any products with ‘N’ in the title (people, please! What’s wrong with an ampersand if you want to save space?) I dug it out. Genius. You can spread, assemble and wrap, transport with no displacement of filling whatsoever, then lunch on the sofa without having to dig crumbs (or rocket) out from between the cushions. It actually fits in a pocket when going back to the kitchen, and all it takes is a thorough wipe and an air-dry to make it ready to use again.
When I’m back on my feet, this baby is going to be my sandwich toting gadget of choice. How could I have forgotten this little wonder?
http://www.anandafoods.co.uk/re-usable-sandwich-wraps.html
Sadly I can’t remember where mine came from, so I apologise if the company that sent it doesn’t profit from this post. Feel free to link to other retailers in the comments…
You should have seen me trying to flannel wash when I was in hospital. Completely inefficient. For a start, I didn’t actually have a flannel. Not in the early days, at any rate. I was provided with a disposable paper towel – less, let’s say, soluble than your usual hand towel, but still, when you come down to it, a piece of paper. Have you ever tried to wash with a piece of paper? Exactly.
My insistence on going it solo meant my paper-based sponge bath also involved issues of balance and effort. With a leg on the bidet, bum balanced on a stool, and a piece of soap that was constantly slipping into the sink, it was slow going. Afterwards, I’m pretty sure I’d just moved the grease around.
Even once furnished by my lovely family with washcloth and shower gel, it was less than satisfactory. I’m not even going to go into washing hair; a totally fruitless endeavour, which I tried only once in the hospital sink before requesting dry shampoo. Note: get dry shampoo. Really. It’s amazing.
Kitted out
Once home, I made do for a little while before daring to take my first bath, using the amazing Limbo my dad had ordered for me in advance. Limbo is basically a glorified plastic bag, with a wet-suit-esque band at the thigh. When I was in the plaster room, I was handed a leaflet outlining this amazing invention, and given my attempts at washing prior to that moment, got straight on the iPhone and asked Daddy to order it for me.
http://www.limboproducts.co.uk/home
Getting it on is really tricky. Actually, removing it is pretty tough too, but it’s well worth the contortions, over-stretching and feeling like an idiot. Once Limbod, you can (theoretically) immerse the cast, although I’ve come up with a reasonably comfortable bathing position whereby my leg is balanced on the edge of the sink. Initially, I needed help – thank you so much those of you who were subjected to me semi-naked during that phase. Now, I’m a bathing pro. Flamingoes love the water, right?
It hasn’t lasted terribly well. After the initial six weeks, the rubber has a little tear in it, possibly because the cast is so abrasive. Why? Why would anyone want a pink cheese-grater for a leg? But it was well worth the price. I’d have paid a tenner per bath, so wonderfully blissful has each dip been.
Top bathing tips
DO keep a phone and a bikini within reach – you never know what might happen and imagine the ambulance men taking you out in the nuddy…
DON’T forget your sock. That cast is very, very, very abrasive. Nobody wants a hole in their Limbo
DO use some kind of adhesive duck/pebble/similar in the bottom of the tub. It helps when getting in and out alive!
DON’T run the water too hot. You can still sweat under that cast, and it takes ages to dry out. Icky…
flamingo living 