Tag Archives: kindness

A Sharp Brake

Bluebells illuminated the forest floor, birdsong reverberated, bright green leaves curled round us and treecreeper birds hopped up to the heavens as we cycled through the woods. Abdominal cramps slowed my progress up a disused side road leading up to the main road.

Years of temperature changes and heavy rains had carved a ditch up one side. The concrete underbelly had been exposed, jagged rocks protruding like blunted shark’s teeth.

Having made it to the top I admitted defeat. “Go on, have a nice ride” I said, “I can’t manage it”. My boyfriend protested, but accepted it and I rolled back downhill.

I should get off and walk, I thought, the road was so uneven. But my suspension would take it.

Towards the bottom, I was speeding towards the ditch, so I gently squeezed the brakes and skidded. Abruptly, like the wheels, time accelerated. Instinctively I braked too hard as I slid, catapulting myself over the handlebars. I was aware of flying and saw that my arm was held out at 90 degrees, protecting my head. I shut my eyes and braced myself for impact.

I was rolling onto my left elbow.

An overwhelming burning sensation had doubled me over. It was impossible to tell where it was coming from, my brain would not compute.

I wondered when someone would find me. I tried to get up but my body would not allow it. Putting weight on my cut right elbow made me scream, so I let my forehead support my weight so I could see whether anyone was coming down. At least it wasn’t my writing hand.

I decided to keep screaming, it was comforting to think that somehow my boyfriend may hear me. It also helped to slow my breathing down. My fitness tracker watch somehow had not been smashed and my pulse shot from 80 to 130 beats per minute, as my body trembled in shock, my temperature dropping.

After the second bout of screaming, my boyfriend blurred into view, jumping off with the bike still moving, wide-eyed.

Seeing my position and pain, he said “we need to call an ambulance.” My rational brain woke up. “My phone is in my bag” I croaked, struggling to speak loudly.

Our first Good Samaritan stopped, a tall, middle-aged man wearing glasses. My boyfriend did not have his phone and had not processed what I had said. “Does he have What Three Words” I asked. Incredibly, the stranger had the GPS application.

My boyfriend put me on the speakerphone and in between shrieks I answered. I was warned that an ambulance could take up to three hours.

They apologised, that was the non-urgent wait time as my life wasn’t immediately at risk. I wondered whether I would eventually pass out in agony.

My boyfriend jumped back on his bike to get the car.

Then Adam, my second knight in shining armour, rode to the rescue. He whipped out a full first aid kit, keeping me warm with a silver blanket and a thermal coat from his backpack.

“Yep, that looks broken” he said, and helped me to shuffle off the road on my bottom so I could rest against the wall.

With his encouragement I dared to extend my elbow slightly so it was supported on my helmet. The burning, pulsating sensation was increasing and I was glad that this kind man was keeping me company.

Distracting me, he told me how he had been a mountain bike guide for decades. He loved the outdoors. If I had not braked as hard I would have been OK, you have to let yourself skid.

My boyfriend arrived about 15 minutes later and we stashed my bike in a cottage driveway.

Every bump and corner caused strong shooting pains. The full waiting room of patients stared in horror as I staggered into Accident and Emergency like a zombie from Shaun of the Dead, my bruised and swollen elbow dangling out.

Administrators put me to the top of the queue and within minutes I was being checked over by a friendly triage doctor.

As she helped me into a hospital gown, I asked “it’s just a standard break isn’t it?”

“I think that’s optimistic.”

“They can just put a pot on it and send me home can’t they?”

“Again, I think that’s optimistic” she smiled.

“Go on, what do you think it is?”

She winced at my bulbous hinge joint. “I’d say it’s an open fracture, I don’t think you’ll be going home tonight.”

“Oh.”

We waited about an uncomfortable hour for assessment. I could not bend my elbow enough to sit down, so I was glad my boyfriend was there for me to lean on and he put a comforting arm round me. The patients sat in silence, until a man walked in, cheerfully telling someone on his mobile phone how he had sliced the top of his thumb off whilst preparing dinner.

An intact elbow for comparison.

The X-ray was interesting, it still looked like an elbow, until the medic pointed to where the olecranon, the funny bone, had slipped, the internal injury and the air that had infiltrated the joint.

A nurse tried to lift the elbow to put a pillow under it and ran off after I screamed, sending medics running to my aid. “Open fracture” I explained, they nodded and left.

WARNING: GORY WOUND

Then it was time for a temporary cast. I would not lie down as it increased the pain, so they made an exception for me and started it with me standing, then gave me gas and air as they urged me to get on the bed. I experienced a powerful bout of nausea followed by nearly blacking out. “It worked” the nurse said “or that would’ve really hurt.”

There was a panel of medics in scrubs looking at computer screens in front of me like traffic control.

Woozily, I slowly hauled myself up and asked a nurse where the toilet was. “I’ll show you when I’ve finished this”, she replied. Then she conferred with another nurse and I blearily followed that woman past resus until she sat down at another A and E ward.

“Sorry, I thought you were showing me where the toilet was”.

“Er, no” she responded, completely bewildered, “you’re best off going back”. After she pointed me there I got lost again, walking into “resus”, past people gasping for breath, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. This was more intense than my holding area. It was a relief when I bumped into the cast lady.

“What are you doing here?” she asked kindly, and showed me to the toilet.

It took over three hours to get a bed. The Theatre Recovery Unit was a long ward with many rooms. Mine was only half full. The nurse, Joy, was either elsewhere, chatting about her recent holiday with support worker Gloria, or telling demented Doris to go back to bed. Doris would then get up again, preferring to twirl a chair at the nurse station.

I smiled at a bespectacled middle-aged lady opposite and she just stared gloomily back and asked Joy “can I go home tomorrow?”.

After being kept “nil by mouth” pending the “highly unlikely” possibility of surgery, I was finally given a ham sandwich for dinner at 10.30pm, when I begged for it. Maybe I would get my elbow fixed the following day…

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Filed under Cycling, Life of Lydia, Uncategorized

Thoughts on Chronic Illness

Daughter fall asleep waiting her mother in hospital

Recently a friend told me that she might have cancer.

Two lumps had appeared, one small, one big. The doctor immediately sent her for a biopsy. The cells were abnormal and treatment is needed.

The doctor was worried because she used to be a heavy smoker and overweight, two known risk factors.

She said the worse part was the torment of not knowing.

doc

Once she has a diagnosis, she can plan, but for now she has to wait, thoughts churning around about the future.

We discussed how she could manage it and even speculated as to what the result might be. I tried to reassure her, but there isn’t much I can say or do, other than telling her that I will be there for her, no matter what. She was experiencing an emotional storm of frustration, anger, sorrow and fear. She is a strong woman both mentally and physically, but nothing can prepare you for the shock of being told you have a long-term illness.

My friend is courageously dealing with an uncertain future. She said that her illness had helped her gain more focus and she will now attack her bucket list with a renewed vigour.

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In times of difficulty we need the courage to draw on our inner resources and access support networks. We may need to evaluate our perspective. In Buddhist philosophy, adversity is seen as the best teacher, a chance to learn from experience and emerge a stronger, wiser person.

So what have I learnt from the experience of my friends?

Firstly, the importance of living in the moment.

No one has a crystal ball. If we speculate about the future we only create fear and worry. This destabilises us and prevents us from being fully present to support friends in need. Everything is easier if we take a moment, slow down and just float on the river of life, wherever it takes us. Not accepting our reality is like trying to swim against the current; it wastes our energy and is futile.

Secondly, I need to be grateful.

We spend so much time focussing on what we do not have. We are constantly unhappy with the present and want more. We forget just how lucky we are. There is so much suffering in the world and, whilst we all experience peaks and troughs, somehow we escape the worst of it.

I would like you to take a moment to be grateful.

Be thankful for all the people in your life who guide and support you, your cheerleaders. Be thankful that you have mental and/or physical good health. But most of all, be thankful for the love and kindness of family and friends. Against all odds, love conquers all.

love

 

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Filed under Advice, Life of Lydia, Uncategorized

Food for Thought

homeless-robbie-from-preston I am someone who likes the feeling of fullness. I am always eating. I buy food for one so I am guilty of contributing to our massive problem of food waste.

While I scoff myself and throw half-eaten food away, others are so starving that they dig into bins for something to eat.

I am talking about the “hidden homeless” that we walk past every day. I recently saw a programme about this desperate group of people called “Where am I sleeping tonight?”. The hidden homeless are not registered as homeless and therefore do not receive additional support. Those that sofa-surf (sleep on friends’ sofas) or sleep on the streets because they feel safer there than in hostels.

Research by the homeless charity Crisis indicates that as many as 62% of the homeless fit this category. For every month that the respondents spent in accommodation provided by the council, they had spent over three months sleeping rough.

There are estimated to be 1 700 hidden homeless people a year. The documentary really opened my eyes to something I had no idea about in my sheltered existence (literally). They lived with so little, not knowing where they would sleep at the end of the day or whether they would be safe. They were completely dependent on the goodwill of others just to stay alive.

homeless 2

It could have happened to any one of us if we had been less fortunate.

One boy of just 17 had struggled with anger-management issues and had beaten up his family until he got kicked out. He wished he could turn back time or that they could see how he had changed.

Another boy had fallen out with his mother, who then moved away leaving him with his grandmother. She fell out with him so he had to go. He said he hadn’t eaten for about a week and his eyes bulged with ravenous desperation as he waited in line for food, white as a sheet.

A girl was sofa-surfing as a messy divorce had made home hell. She said it had been friends at first, then friends of friends and then people she did not know at all. One man had tried to make a move on her and she had to find somewhere else to stay that night.

These vulnerable young people seemed to have little or no chance of escaping the endless cycle of hunger, cold and sleep deprivation.

Once someone I knew did a sponsored rough sleep for a homeless charity and he said it was he hardest thing he had ever done. He did it at the start of winter and he didn’t sleep at all because he was so cold in his sleeping bag and the concrete was so uncomfortable. homeless

The programme got me thinking. Surely there is something we can do to share the wealth. I have been brought up with everything and I take basic needs like food and shelter forgranted.

I have given food to beggars before. Just extra food that I will not eat or snacks like cereal bars. They are always gratefully accepted.

But I want to do more.

I am planning on buying a full lunch for a homeless person so they can at least have one proper meal that day.

I will get a sandwich, a flapjack (more filling than crisps) and some fruit. Perhaps a hot drink to go with it.

I want to start a movement like the famous “Pay It Forward” one. This one involves buying food for the needy. Some incredible people already do.

So how about you join us, reader, and buy a homeless person a sandwich.

If you do it let me know how it feels. When I have donated before I have always felt content. It is a feeling that only helping someone in need can bring. A deep satisfaction that you are making a small difference in an indifferent world. The Gift that Keeps on Giving

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Filed under Food, Life of Lydia