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 …