The Hipster Journals (1)

Those following my wittering will have noted that I was in hospital on Wednesday having a dodgy hip replaced. The process has put a bit of a crimp on my usual activities but, after a rather aimless first couple of days back home, I’m now trying to get back to gainful deployment and thought that recording my efforts would go some way to gathering the scattered wits.

The surgery all went well, or so I assume; after a pleasant josh with the team in pre-op (the only off putting part was the fact that they were wearing wellies) I slumbered through the whole thing on “light anaesthesia” and woke up a couple of hours later to be revived with toast. All very civilised. The surgeon popped his head in later to tell me they’d have me up walking the corridor shortly (they did indeed) and that my old hip was “terrible”. I nodded sagely and ate my toast. A grim night followed (this is apparently normal) so I dug in to the wispa sharing bag, peanuts and my first novel which was a corker (see below) which carried me through till morning when I found myself much perked up (could have been the coffee, could have been the synthetic opioids – who can say).

I mastered the zimmer pretty quickly on day 2 and was promptly sanctioned for free styling solo to the loo. I was, the nurse advised sternly, shaking her head more in sorrow than in anger, only in amber territory and required a co pilot. Further monitored zimmering followed, then a corridor stroll with sticks, and I was finally upgraded to access all areas green. A much better night followed and I had a couple of chapters of book 2 still to go for Friday morning. Having confirmed that I was to be paroled, Keith was called and I had a few goes on the practice stairs before the trusty chariot arrived. Getting out of the padded, electric rise and fall bed to negotiate the curves, corners and cobbles of the New Town was rather a wake up that the next few days might not be entirely unicorns and rainbows. The stairs at home dwarfed the practice set and I was so utterly wiped out by bedtime that I forgot the last smartie. Waking at two to go to the loo in considerable pain rather underscored the importance of remembering the scheduled painkillers….

Anyway, I had a somewhat stiff and dismal morning on Saturday, feeling sorry for myself, before giving myself the curtain treatment. By Sunday I was on top of the drug and exercise regime and had been for successful test rambles all over the garden (the only unexplored part so far being the bottom pond stepping stones, by which I am sorely tempted …). Mum and I also consumed a suitably gruesome and exciting crime show (Dept. Q) in large dollops after dinner over the weekend and the fate doled out to the victim definitely made my slightly stiff leg and jangly nerves seem really quite tolerable.

Today was declared the beginning of getting back to normal. Having triumphantly got out of my compression socks single handed (getting the new ones on remains a two man job), I spent the best part of morning potting on rooted cuttings in the greenhouse. An experiment with bananas trialled just before admission had failed miserably (moral: take no heed of internet gardening tips) but some trusty chrysanthemum, rosemary and nepeta snippings had taken. Feeling wet whilst repotting one of these, I looked down to see if I was accidentally leaning on a defunct cutting banana only to find a massive snail crawling up my arm. I am happy to report that the dodgy leg is still perfectly able to deliver a shell shattering death blow. By the time I had started to wilt in the heat several nicely rooted fellows were ready to be handed over to mum for planting out in the rescue (formerly cutting) bed. I shall be focussing my rambles over the next few days on looking for suitable long term homes. (The cold frame is still given over to a nesting bird (now identified as a robin). The poor thing had a frantic night stuck in the greenhouse yesterday (no one is sure how she got in) but was shooed out first thing and she was back warming her eggs by the time I left).

Everything seems to have grown like mad in the few days I’ve been away. There’s a green weed sheen over the bare soil I never reached with the mulch barrow and plants that seemed to have ample space are now elbowing each other out of the way as they jockey for position. The roses, in particular, have gone berserk. I’ve never seen so many flowers on the Mme Alfred Carrière on the pergola – we’ve had to reinforce the ties with a giant rope. The rose garden smells fantastic. I plan to devote myself to some serious dead-heading and have suggested that my lovely support team moves a bench in there so I can rest and sip coffee between laps.

I have also ordered yoga pants.