So, on the 19th March, I had a big toe fusion, to realign my first metarsal bones on my weak and overworked left foot. The bones have been pinned together, effectively turning my big toe into one solid joint that I will never be able to spring off again, hence eradicating my pain. Hurrah!

I hadn’t had a general anaesethetic since I was 8 years old and I was nervous about enduring one on my own. I was relieved to find out that I would be put under through drugs in my canular, not through breathing foul tasting gas from a heavy rubber mask. I remember that being equally foul tasting and vomiting its taste away as soon as I came to and I was anxious not to repeat the experience. My blood pressure was checked just after I received news of my reprieve and Kev commented that I had the blood pressure of an athlete. I was just proud to be feeling so calm about something I had been so worried about.

I woke up almost still sleepy and my blood pressure stayed low for a few hours afterwards, but I was just relieved to look down and see that my toe was lying straight.

I was fortunate enough not to feel any pain at all from my foot in that day thanks to the anasethetic. The only pain I felt (besides the wooziness of my low blood pressure) was when the physiotherapist gave me crutches to try walking around the room on the heal bearing surgery sandal. (As fetching as you can imagine! It’s quite something that I am willing to share photos of my detested severe bunions but not the surgery sandal, haha!)

The pain didn’t really come from the walking either. It was the tugging on my canular in my hand as I gripped the crutches, trying not to get tangled in the saline drip. It was like someone dragging a knife through my hand. I didn’t feel safe on crutches balance wise either. Thankfully, after that one attempt, a member of nursing staff bought me a zimmer frame, commenting: “You look much more stable now.”

I made it home that night, flopped on my sofa and insisted on watching TV and eating a chippy tea with Kev right in that spot. He didn’t like it, as the advice was to elevate my foot for 55 minutes of every hour to help with the swelling, but given that advice stood for 2 weeks, I was in no rush to be relegated to my bed.

As I write this, I am on Day 9 of that advice. Kev has worked tirelessly to care for me & our girls & our home. He has done so well and I am so proud of him.

Let’s be real about my half of this situation though please. It sucks. Stairs are agony so I can only make it to the bathroom. But our upstairs bathroom is on its own little landing, so for three days Kev had to lift me carefully off the stairs across the landing, before I gave in and requested we buy a commode. It is not worth the suffering and they absolutely exist to perserve independence and dignity but let’s not pretend that both of these things aren’t taking a ht right now. The incapacity of right now might be temporary (for this, I am grateful) but it does (in my case at least) diminish my sense of personhood. I feel slow, sore and grimy and there’s very little I can do about it. Not that it matters much I guess, it’s not as though I am in any fit state (yet) to go anywhere.

I am very grateful for the sunlight coming through the bedroom window, the occassional blue skies I can see over the neighbourhood rooftops. I go to the upstairs bathroom once a day to wash my face.

My bandage is not to get wet so I am relegated to flannel washing until it is removed on day 13 and I can spend hours in my bathtub simply because I can, because I won’t be required to constantly elevate.

But, being stuck in bed is not as restful as those out of the world might like to think. I’m a side sleeper for one, so having to sleep on my back with my leg on the elevation pillow is painful, all my bones ache and want to crack.

I eat here too, food balanced on a bed tray that doesn’t quite balance over my elevated leg. So there goes my well-intentioned plan to spend my dags blogging or catching up on my writing projects. Never mind, I guess that’s what the following 4 weeks of recovery post-bandage removal will look like. I am determined to spend those 4 weeks downstairs, at the table, reading or writing. Exercise (in my case, aqua aerobics and rowing) and physio are off the table until circa week 10 according to my consultant) normally takes up the bulk of my time, so whilst it literally isn’t allowed to and I absolutely don’t want to be in bed anymore, I can happily take up my writing projects again, or reading.

Whilst I am bed bound, I am listening to Stephen King’s 11.22.63, his time travel novel centred around altering the events around the Kennedy assassaination. This is only relevant because it is 30 hours long as an audiobook, so it is like a constant companion just now, though with the strong painkillers in the first few days, I have fallen asleep several times, so I really am time travelling back a chapter or two to catch myself up. My reading list stands at about 2 years long, so plenty to be getting on with as always. From here, with these constraints, I feel as though I am productive enough.

It’s hard on the girls too. Gabby is very tearful just now and though she can’t articulate it, I think she misses my presence in her everyday routines. I know I do. It’s hard having Daddy be Mummy too, though she can explain back to me that is what is happening. I only get to see them when they climb on the bed beside me, usually for reading and spellings and phonics and what we call “5 Minutes with Mummy”, which is concentrated play and games between me and each of my girls in turn, so that they know they are important, that I am here. We do video calls at the dinner table so we can check in on each other’s days, though currently I feel I have little to add. I cannot wait to be back around our dinner table.

I haven’t needed anything stronger than paracetomol since day 7. My bandage is getting looser, suggesting that the swelling is slowly receding. The iodine used in the surgery means that I have strange green patches all over my foot, adding to my feeling of being unclean. I have made Hulk jokes in sharing pictures of my bandaged, swollen foot and now, it seems as though it might be true.

At my 6 week post operative appointment with my consultant at the end of April, I will find out if the bones have fused together as expected, if life can slowly return to normal. I can’t wait to be on a school run without pain. But before then even, I’ll have to get to grips with walking on an almost “new” foot. My toes have been out of line since I first learnt to weight bear as a small child so I will have to learn, maybe even for the first time how to work with a straightened foot. I will probably need my orthotics altering to compensate for these new capabilities.

Then it will be time to care for and appreciate my body like never before, otherwise what is it all for? I can’t wait to be back in my own shoes, maybe even managing to eventually wear my not-quite-so-wide winter boots. (An EEE width still, I would never be daft enough now not to take care of my feet. Besides, with the immobilisation of my big toe, nothing over n inch height will be possible now and I am absolutely here for that!)

I can’t wait to get back to aqua aerobics – I’ll be able to walk to the  leisure centre, I’ll be able to walk wherever I damn well please in the summer sunshine, I will be able to enjoy the summer holidays with my girls for the first time ever without being ruled by worsening pain.

So these few weeks, bed bound and bored are not a disaster. There is a bright future coming. For now, I just want to get to week 2 so I can have a damn bath. After that, just week 6 so I can cherish healed bones.

My family have been incredible and so accepting of how this has impacted them. My girls are run ragged, bringing me drinks and snacks and tidying their toys and clothes away. They’ve handled it like absolute bosses. But we all know it’s short term pain for long term gain. May it be the best thing we could have done.