The best laid plans of mice and men, and me….

The plan was for me to take my trip to France then return to my nearly organised house, have a huge last push blitz and then settle into Making Things to sell.

Well the good news is that I’m back home after my French jaunt.  The bad news is that I broke my arm just before I was due to leave and I can’t drive.  It’s jolly painful as it’s right at the top of the humerus just below the shoulder joint so it can’t be plastered and is just in a sling. No, I wasn’t drunk, I tripped in my friends’ kitchen.

Up until then I was having such an enjoyable time seeing friends, ex-neighbours and the new owners of my house.  However, I am now home after a horribly uncomfortable two-day journey.  I found someone to drive me and my car back to the UK  and I was never so pleased to be in my own surroundings – even though I can’t even sleep properly as I can’t lie down.

It’s surprising how much one can achieve using one hand and teeth but of course the most frustrating thing is that I can’t knit, crochet or sew.  I’m a reader, but I can’t manipulate a book, I can’t do much else as it’s so painful and I’m so slow so I’m reduced to catching up with recorded tv programmes, cleaning up my Documents folder on my laptop, (very definitely needed), – and thank goodness for the French Open tennis.

I’m hoping for a rapid recovery but we shall see.  So much for The Plan.

This is the hot, heavy, badly fitting, uncomfortable medieval instrument of torture that my arm was put into in the French hospital. I was told I had to wear it without taking it off for four weeks.  I have since discovered that it is meant for a man, it was too big and it was put on wrong in the hospital!

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It gave me a huge blister on my back but I had ordered a lighter one whilst still in France and it was delivered as I got home so that, at least, is more comfortable.

Later today I go for my first shower and hairwash for two weeks.  I don’t understand why I don’t smell but everyone assures me I don’t. They aren’t the kind to be polite either!

My very lovely doctor arranged for me to be taken to a retirement home where there is a walk-in shower as all of the showers I have access to are over the bath and there’s no way I’I’d be able to manage that.

Yes, I know that there are many worse off than I am and I shouldn’t be whinging, but this is MY misfortune and if it impacts directly it has an effect, the main one being extreme frustration, even though I know I can’t do a thing about it except wait.  I have masses of patience for things like jigsaws, untangling yarn, undoing knots, people and suchlike but this is just maddening.  At least I know that every day it should get a little better and I’m not miserable.  Some aren’t that lucky.

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