Injury part 3: ways to stay positive

It’s not easy to remain positive when you’re stuck indoors and barely able to walk. So here are some of the things I’ve been doing to look on the bright side

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I am struggling with this injury. There have been times of utter despair, of endless tears, of feeling like I’m never going to recover. As someone who’s generally very active, enforced inactivity is hard; constant pain is even harder. And sometimes it really does feel like I’m going to be like this forever.

It’s not always dark, and some days are much better. I try to stay positive and here I’d like to share some of the ways I manage to – and just maybe they’ll help others going through similar experiences.

Keep busy
This is the obvious one: occupy your mind and you won’t have time to dwell on what could go wrong or why it’s taking so long to heal. It’s also easy. There is an incredible number of things to do without ever leaving the sofa.

Netflix seems to be making an awful lot of original sci-fi series, which is great for me. I’ve already watched all of Brazilian dystopian show 3% and The OA. The former was excellent; the latter was weird. I've got The Expanse lined up for next week. I’m not as impressed with Amazon Prime Video. It won’t, for example, let me ‘rent’ Top Hat, so in order to watch the film I have to buy it for £13.99, despite paying for the service. The second series of The Man in the High Castle is available, though, and I will watch that.

I’m also knitting, reading, colouring and designing a website. I’ve got more than 400 books on my Kindle and I’ve almost finished knitting an insanely complicated shawl. I’ve probably got more colouring books and pencils than I can use in a lifetime.

This is Dawson, the bike I was riding when I came off.

The website is called Ride Guides and I’m designing it using WordPress, which has involved learning how to use WordPress. I found this quite difficult and have had to download a few beginners’ guides. It’s been quite a steep learning curve, but it’s also been fun. There are still some things I need to figure out, but I hope to launch the website soon – watch this space!

Mindfulness
When I first started hearing about mindfulness I thought it was new age hippy shit. But then I realised that dismissing something out of hand was as bad as accepting it without question, so I did some research. It turns out that there’s a huge body of work showing that mindfulness can be very helpful in treating conditions such as anxiety and depression. It’s been used extensively by cognitive behavioural therapists in the States.

So I gave it a go. There are several apps out there that offer free trials of their guided meditations, and I’ve tried two. First was Headspace, which I didn’t really get on with. But then a friend recommended Calm and I gave the Seven Days of Calm free trial a go. I liked it so much I subscribed – the only app I’ve ever paid for. I’m currently working my way through the 21 Days of Calm programme. I used the Emergency Calm mediation in hospital when I was in a blind panic about having surgery. It really did calm me down.

I find it very hard to switch off my brain. I’m constantly thinking about past conversations or planning future ones, which leads to all kinds of feelings of anxiety and inadequacy. Mindfulness helps this.

Stay connected
It seems to be very trendy to bash social media at the moment and there are any number of self-congratulatory articles on The Guardian in which the authors make themselves feel superior to the rest of us by giving up social media. But I love it. While I was in hospital Facebook gave me a much-needed lifeline to friends who kept me feeling positive, who offered the right combination of humour and support. Twitter keeps me connected to the wider world.

I need my friends, and Facebook and Twitter mean that it’s almost like they’re with me in my living room even though in reality they’re all over the world.

Gratitude list
I wrote a list of all the things I’m grateful for related to the accident. Things like the injury not being much worse, which it could have been, and The Chap being self-employed and working from home, which meant he was there to take me to A&E and could stay with me the whole day. I read it back to myself when I’m feeling particularly down.

Silver lining
The idea of this is to identify some positive outcomes from a negative situation: find the cloud’s silver lining. This is really something that needs to be done in retrospect, after the good effects have become a bit more obvious. One thing I can say, though, is that I had previously been feeling incredibly stressed at work. After three weeks off and a couple more to go, all that stress has disappeared.

Future cycling self
This is adapted from a mindfulness task in which you picture your best possible future: your ideal job, relationship, friendships, home, hobbies and so on and then write about it all for 15 minutes.

It’s not easy getting out of the house when you’re recovering from an operation, but if you can, do it

Instead of concentrating on my fears that I’ll never be able to ride a bike again, I pictured my future cycling self taking part in one the long-distance sportives I love so much. I imagined how it would make me feel: all that joy and freedom, the achievement of crossing the finish line, the shared experience with thousands of other riders, the pride in taking part in such a big challenge.

I wrote it all in my notebook and this is another thing I can refer to when I’m feeling down.

Getting out and about
I can’t overstate the importance of this. Since coming back from the hospital I’ve been out of the house four times (not including trips to the GP). Each time has meant increased pain both that evening and the following day. It’s been worth it.

Three of these trips out have been to a local coffee shop called Today Bread. It’s not even five minutes walk away under normal conditions; on crutches it takes me 15 minutes. But it’s got huge tables and plenty of space so I’ve got lots of room to sit with my leg stuck straight out. It’s also got lovely food. Just going there for a coffee has improved my mood considerably.

It’s not easy getting out of the house when you’re recovering from an operation, but if you can, do it. It really does help.

Injury part 2: the psychology of fear

The physical challenges of recovering from an injury are just half the battle. Here I look at much trickier issue, the mental aspect

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THIS post was much harder to write than the previous one, it’s also more important. Recovering from an injury is hard. Physically it’s pretty simple: rest it, elevate it, regularly move my toes, ankle and knee to keep it mobile, and trust to modern medicine and my own body that it’ll heal properly. The psychological side is a whole lot more complicated.

Being in almost constant pain is incredibly emotionally draining. By the end of the day I’m exhausted. Some days I feel like I’m not coping very well. Saturday (10 December) was bad; Sunday (11 December) was much better. Monday (12 December) was up and down: from joking and laughing to sobbing in a matter of moments. I spent much of Saturday in tears, while the pain was exceptionally high.

And the smallest thing can set me off. The Chap has to bring my clothes down for me. He brought cycling socks by mistake and I said they were the wrong sort. He quite reasonably asked what difference it makes. It doesn’t, not really, but it did matter to me and I was in tears.

On top of that I’m worried that it won’t heal properly – that I’ll do something wrong and tear it open again or I won’t get full mobility back so I won’t be able to do all the things I want to. I’ve always been very independent and very active. As well as cycling, I go to yoga a couple of times a week and do a lot of walking. I’d be devastated if I could no longer do all of this.

I’ve already missed out on two things I was very much looking forward to: The Nutcracker at the Royal Opera House and Peony Pavilion at Sadler’s Wells. The first would have been my first-ever trip to the Royal Opera House and my first-ever traditional ballet. The latter was a production by the Chinese National Ballet and looked like it would be absolutely beautiful. I was to go with my mum and she went with my aunt instead, so the tickets didn’t go to waste, which I’m very pleased about. But I’m so incredibly disappointed that I didn’t get to go.

I understand that it’s unlikely that the wound will re-open or that I’ll never walk again; my mind is just being melodramatic. When I’m already feeling down and tired, though, it’s hard to fight off such negative thinking.

It was a pretty bad injury that’s going to take a long time to fully heal and coming to terms with that after being generally very fit and healthy is difficult

Physical activity is a big part of my life. I use it to stay healthy, fit and happy. Exercise helps keep my depression at bay. So not being able to do it is worrying. I’m also concerned about putting on weight. Not really the time to fret, I know, but I can’t help myself.

I love cycling. The thought that it might not be in my future worries me. It’s not so much the physical ability – that I can build up again. No, it’s the fear. When it comes to getting back on the bike, will I be able to? At the moment when I think about my bike I see that stretch of road where I came off. I shudder and wince. Fear goes right through me. What if I can’t get over that?

I’ve always been a pretty fearless cyclist. I cycle through London rush hour traffic every day; I’ve done 100-mile rides; I worked out a route and rode from Walthamstow to Windsor on my own. My bike gives me so much joy, and I am truly scared that I could lose that.

I suspect I’m suffering some sort of post-traumatic stress. It was a pretty bad injury that’s going to take a long time to fully heal and coming to terms with that after being generally very fit and healthy is difficult. We live in a world where we expect everything to happen instantaneously and that breeds impatience. I’ve got nothing but time in which to sit and brood about what could go wrong.

There’s no quick and easy fix. Telling myself to stay positive is all well and good, but how? Mindfulness meditations help as they keep me in the present, whereas these fears are all about what’s already happened, and therefore unchangeable, or the future, and therefore unknowable. Keeping busy also helps, and I’ve got on hand books, writing, knitting, free courses from FutureLearn, even designing a website. I know also that when I do climb back on the bike I need to take it carefully. Short rides on quiet roads with no time constraints and build up slowly to where I was before the accident.

One thing I’m going to try is ‘silver lining’. This is something I came across recently and it involves looking for any positive outcomes from bad experiences. Not in a pseudo-spiritual ‘everything happens for a reason’ or ‘the universe made this happen because …’ way, but rather identifying concrete examples of good results. It’s a bit too soon right now, but one possible upshot could be unlimited amounts of zen-like patience …

Injury part 1: the accident and the aftermath

I wasn’t going to do this, but writing is therapeutic for me and I feel the need to get it all out. In part one of my examination of my recent accident I look at the physical aspect: what happened and how I got fixed

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A note on photos: the first photo is just my leg in a bandage. It’s suitable for all. At the very end of this piece there’s a photo of the knee after the stitches came out. This is more 12A than U. If you’re squeamish you might not want to look. The photos of the open wound are definitely not for putting here, but I’m happy to share them if anyone wants to see them …

AS some who read this blog already know, a couple of weeks ago – on 22 November – I came off my bike. I’ve fallen off a few times before, but nothing like this. I’m not entirely sure what happened. One minute I was cycling along going onto the cycle path from the road (surely a safety-conscious move?) and the next I was sliding along the pavement unable to stop myself.

I hadn’t hit the curb (it was a drop curb) or a rock or wet leaves. I wasn’t going overly fast. I wasn’t weaving in and out of traffic. The bike just went from under me. All I can think is that I hit a patch of diesel. Part of me wishes I had been doing something stupid or dangerous; at least then I could look to what I’d done and not do it again.

I hit the ground hard and my momentum dragged me along on my left knee. A woman taking her kids to school stopped and offered to call an ambulance. A couple of police officers offered to call their van to take me home. I declined both. I wasn’t far from home and was sure I could easily get back. Some schoolgirls even stopped and offered me a drink of water. Walthamstow really is lovely sometimes.

So I walked for a bit and then got back on the bike and cycled home. I honestly thought that all I’d done was skin the knee and knock it about quite badly. I even sent a text to my boss saying that I’d just fallen off my bike and I’d be a bit late for work. It wasn’t until I got my cycling leggings off that I realised how wrong I was. There was gaping hole in my knee about 13cm across, 5cm wide and almost down to the bone. “I need to go to A&E,” I told The Chap, in a somewhat understated manner. He took one look and panicked. He tried to phone for an ambulance but couldn’t remember the number …

He did manage to get through but they wouldn’t come out, so we had to call a cab. We also needed to wrap the wound somehow, but have any bandages so had to rip up a T-shirt and tie that round my leg, Rambo style. The drive was awful. We were in peak drive-the-kids-to-school time and there were roadworks; every bump in the road jounced my leg, causing me agony. I didn’t cry, though.

A&E was much like you’d expect: lots of waiting around while I was seen by a succession of nurses and doctors. I was given some codeine for the pain. The wound was x-rayed and properly bandaged. We also took some photos so that different doctors and nurses could see what had happened without removing the bandages every time. I’ve still got the photos; they’re grim.

Eventually we got to see the orthopaedics doctor, and that’s when the bombshell was dropped. The wound was too big to sew up under a local anaesthetic, I was going to have to have surgery. “And I want to keep you in overnight,” she concluded. This was when I started crying. Up to this point I was convinced that they were just going to stitch me up and I’d be back at work within the week. It didn’t occur to me that I might not be going home that day. I’ve never had surgery, never even had local anaesthetic never mind a general, and never spent the night in hospital. I was terrified.

My bandaged knee after the surgery. You can see the bruising and where they had to draw an arrow
to make sure they operated on the correct knee.

The doctor added that she would be happy with me going home if we promised that if there was any change or if blood came through the bandage we would come straight back. She left the room to give us a bit of privacy. I was sobbing. “I just want to go home,” I said. So that’s what we did. It wasn’t my best decision. I settled down on the sofa, had some lunch and was about to turn on Netflix, when I thought I should just check the bandage, just in case there was some blood, convinced there wouldn’t be. You can probably guess the next bit. The bandage was soaked.

“I think we need to go back to A&E,” I said. So for the second time that day The Chap called a cab and off we went for more sitting around. When we saw the orthopaedic doc again, she looked at me and asked “Can I keep you in this time?” I could only nod. So we waited in A&E for a bed to come available. It took hours; apparently there’s a shortage of beds across the whole of the NHS.

It’s weird being in hospital overnight. Lights go out at 11pm, but it’s never truly dark. It’s never truly quiet either and I’m so very grateful for a friend’s advice to take earplugs. The nurses were also taking blood pressure readings and so on at regular intervals through the night. They’re very careful but it’s hard not to wake up. Another thing I’m grateful for, as it meant I was awake at 2am, the last time I could eat anything in order to have the surgery that day. I had a banana.

The doctor who was to perform the surgery visited me on his rounds that morning. He assured me they would try to see me in the morning, but they couldn’t promise anything. I was also seen by an anaesthetist who turned out to be a cyclist too – the first thing he asked was if the bike was ok – and the pharmacist, who was pretty hot, so that cheered me up somewhat.

I spent most of the day in a blind panic about the operation. I even had to do an emergency calm mindfulness meditation, which really helped and I’d recommend it to anyone in a similar situation. I use the Calm app and it really does work. I’m currently working through the 21 days of calm meditations. In the end I went down for surgery at 3pm, by which time I’d not eaten or drunk anything for 13 hours.

I was totally blown away by the professionalism, compassion, respect, patience and kindness demonstrated by everyone with whom I came into contact

The anaesthetists put in a drip, which was an odd experience. I’d been feeling very dehydrated but almost immediately that went away. They also asked how I was feeling. “OK,” I said. “Just very scared.” They reassured me that they would look after me, and they really did. In fact all the staff were fantastic. I was totally blown away by the professionalism, compassion, respect, patience and kindness demonstrated by everyone with whom I came into contact. It might be self-evident that people in caring profession are likely to be, well, caring, but it’s not until you actually experience it that you realise just what that means.

After I’d come round, the cycling anaesthetist came over and agreed that it was indeed a very bad injury. Then I was wheeled back to the ward. The Chap was already there. My notes said I could go home if safe, but there was no way that evening. So I had another night in hospital. And the next morning brought more sitting around as I waited for orthopaedics to release me. One nurse: “I’ll phone up to them again. I’m so sorry – I wish I could do more.” I went home around lunch time.

So now, almost three weeks later, I’m confined to the sofa, being looked after by The Chap. I’ve had the stitches out; the knee is constantly painful and I’m on all kinds of painkillers. I still can’t walk without crutches, but I’m trying to keep bending my knee, ankle and toes just to return a bit of movement. It’s not easy. It hurts and I’ve been very emotional; I’m going to talk more about the psychological aspect in part two of this post.

Below the line is a photo of the injury after the stitches came out. If you don't want to see, turn away now.

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It's not that bad, but you can see the extent of the wound and the bruising around it. 

London to Paris day 3: Arras to Compeigne, 16 September 2016

Currently confined to the sofa with an injury, I look back to the third day of September’s epic London to Paris challenge

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Distance: 122km
Average speed: 17.1kph
Maximum speed: 48kph
Elevation gain: 875m
Biggest climb: 193m
Time: 7:03

THIS was the most enjoyable day for me. Body and mind were prepared for another day’s riding, and it certainly helped that this was a shorter and flatter ride. The wind had dropped, too, and importantly after lunch we would be out of the monotony of the agricultural landscape and into forest.

But what made the most fun, the most pleasurable, was the best descent I’ve ever experienced. We were warned that there was a challenging climb straight after the lunch stop at Hallu. But maybe I was getting more used to ascending, because it just didn’t seem that difficult. And the reward, the descent, was simply amazing.

The road itself was super smooth – as were most of the French roads – making it easy to really pick up the pace. It wound gracefully through the forest, zig-zagging nicely, and was just about the right steepness. It was so much fun - at the next rest stop everyone, even the mechanics, asked how much we’d enjoyed it. The answer? Very, very much!

The most fun, the most pleasurable, was the best descent I’ve ever experienced

The landscape was much more inspiring on this day. We cycled through some gorgeous little villages, while going through the forest was amazing.

It wasn’t all great, though. That pain in my thigh had migrated to my left knee. It wasn’t prohibitively bad, but it was almost constant. I was also tired - I noted that my recovery time following climbs had increased. I hadn’t really got any slower on climbs, but getting back up to speed after them was definitely taking longer.

Our lunch stop at Hallu was right next to this very picturesque church.

It was at this point that I – a confirmed atheist – was thanking God for my Threo cycling shorts. Almost everyone was complaining of pain and rawness ‘down below’, some even had the most awful-sounding sores and blisters. I was feeling about as comfortable as is possible after three days of seven hours in the saddle. I’m not in any way affiliated with Threo, but I would highly recommend checking the company out. The shorts really were good - excellent fit, comfortable to wear and with a chamois that really did the job.

The day ended in the town of Compeigne. Tomorrow would bring the final day of the challenge.