The Life & Times Of A One-Legged Woman! posted 4/27/2008 7:03:41 PM | 5 kudos what's this?     report abuse tagged: disability, humour

Bionic_Angel

Listen, I'm not about to do a Jonathon Ross here and poke fun at Mrs McCartney, nee Ms Mills. I think she's been through enough - well it's hard work making millions being famous for being famous...... and I'm serious! See ya Heather, wouldn't wanna be ya!

What I do admire her for is being able to go through everything she's been through with only one leg.

I'm only temporarily disabled and God knows, it's been really bloody hard at times.

Ladies, especially you larger ladies, girls you have absolutely no idea exactly how heavy you are until you have to support your entire body weight on one leg - or worse still, crutches. A hex upon the evil that is the dreaded crutches. They're a ticket to two broken legs if ever I saw one. Within two days of being home I'd fallen arse over tit in the kitchen when someone, who will remain nameless (because no one dare confess or they'll get clobbered with me crutches) failed to wipe up some liquid they spilled on the floor. Crutch plus wet vinyl flooring doesn't bode well when it comes to supporting the weight of an anorexic, let alone big, beautiful moi! Jesus, the air were blue that day I can tell ya!

Then there's what to wear. To be honest whatever you wear aint gonna flatter a big fat leg in a plaster caste. I debated with myself over what would be easier for call of nature purposes, skirt or trousers? ... and the simple answer is NEITHER. Picture this.... imagine standing on one leg poised ready for the pot - you have to hold on somewhere with one hand, lift a skirt and tuck it under both elbows before single handedly removing the underwear and lowering oneself strategically in a gentle motion towards the throne. Trousers have to be single handed shifted alongside said underwear whilst still standing on one leg. Try it, you'll see they're equally difficult.

I recommend any woman who comes out of hospital with a leg in plaster should hire a wheelchair. Men have sufficient upper body strength to propel themselves on crutches across a room and out of a door at rocket propelled speed. I couldn't fight my way out of a wet paper bag - not after shock and trauma anyway - 100% fit I'd probably manage it. My wheelchair is my new best friend, without which I'd not have ventured out of the house in three weeks.

Remember though, don't get one of those super dooper, self propelling ones they win all the gold medals in the ParaOlympics because I'm telling you man, those people are proper sportsmen and women, they're fit, fit, fit!. Again, you need major arm and up body strength to wheel one of those babies, all assuming they'll fit through the doorways in your home to begin with.

I have me a lightweight portable item. Nifty little thang but not much use if you don't have the use of at least one leg - you need that to propel yourself along because the damned wheels are too small to manoeuvre by hand. Don't be too proud of your paintwork either because the foot pedals will swing around from the side to the front and make great lines on your doors and frames.

Be sure not to get too confident in the wheelchair either. Don't go forgetting the brakes and trying to get up because it'll be a toss up between who causes the most damage, you falling on your face or the chair crashing into whatever unsuspecting person or item is position behind it. So no bending down to pick items up off the floor, even though you're pretty sure it will be easier than calling for help.

Most times though, I've discovered it's worth the risk doing it oneself than calling for help. You know what, people are so dumb ass worse than useless after a while. To begin with they can't do enough for you, it's all fuss, fuss, fuss like you're royalty or some rich uncle about to pop his clogs. Give 'em a week and they're back to their old self-centred selves, plugged into their Ipods so they can't hear a bloody thing when you call.

It might shock you to discover that since I've been out of hospital I've had to clean the toilet and the basin in the bathroom and hang wet towels up that had been left on the floor.

I have moved toiletry items back to where it's easier for me to reach, even though I'd pointed out they were there for a reason.

I've moved all regular items I need from the kitchen, tea making equipment, cereal, cutlery and dishes into the living room so I can prepare myself a cup of tea and some breakfast because my requests for a bowl to be left out for me in the morning fell on deaf ears.

I've overhauled the vacuum cleaner, had it apart and cleaned it so that the carpet doesn't look like a family of goats have been chewing at the carpet.

I cooked a roast dinner today, albeit only for two and mainly from frozen - but apart from serve it up it was all my own and Tesco's freezer department's work. I even remembered the instant gravy.

Apart from all that I can make my own bed and get dressed all by myself - it might take me an hour in all but I've not had anyone give me a hand with my knickers since I've been out of hospital - in fact no one helped me there - the NHS doesn't stretch to that kind of care. (continued below)

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