You’ve got a friend

So, the active get up and go bit of my holiday came to a halt with a thump ( literally) when I tripped on the two ( yes, two) steps getting out of my van and broke my wrist. I knew I had done something bad because I felt it break ( sorry if you are eating, it made me want to vomit too) and in my shocked state I remember thinking that perhaps if I got back into bed it would click back into place. However my howling alerted everyone to the fact that all was far from well, so I was bundled into the car and we set off for A and E wearing an assortment of hastily thrown together clothes including  two inside out and back to front jumpers and a full set of pyjamas. 

A and E departments are strange places at the best of times,  hot and airless, a bit like an airport, but without any of the shops or the fact that you going somewhere, and with a bunch of travellers who have obviously missed several days worth of flights. It got off to a promising start as there were only four people in before us, two of whom ( one was called Liam Spink, a marvellous surname) had been in a fight and the one who wasn’t Liam was snoring it off sprawled on the plastic bench with blood spattered down his front. Sadly,it turned out that  four people equalled four hours of waiting time, with a brief nip of morphine in between for me and some unspeakable ploughman pasties for the others, washed down with something that was wrongly labelled as tea. Eventually I got seen by a lovely consultant who cheerfully announced he was going to manipulate my wrist ( which did look rather wonky) back into position using ” conscious sedation”. Frankly, “unspeakable torture”would have been more accurate,  but I appreciate this may not have had such a calm response from me, who at this point was a bit off with the fairies having been hooked up to an intravenous drip of morphine.Looking back , if we had been playing the “would you rather..” game and there had been a choice of manipulation or eating fish every day for the rest of my life,  fish would have won hands ( or at least one hand) down. Anyway,  at the end of this,  with me gulping gas and air as if it was going out of fashion,  and having  hallucinations and  convinced I was driving my car through a tunnel, I opened my eyes and realised I was actually in hospital in Devon. Half an hour later I was plastered up, given several packets of painkillers, an appointment to return four days later, and put back in the car being driven back to camp where I was greeted with hugs, love and a cup of proper tea in a beautiful mug that had been taken form the camping box and decorated by my niece,  so that instead of just saying ” welcome to Canterbury” it now also said “get well soon”. 

The return follow up visit to hospital was a little depressing. My right wrist is quite badly broken and I need an operation to put a metal plate in it. As we were a long way from home and as I can’t drive there was a two day window of operation opportunity before my fellow campers had to start taking days off work in order to ferry me home, if things took longer. Which inevitably they did. Though I was told there was a chance of it happening it didn’t.   Two mornings of “nil by mouth ” action were brought to a halt each morning by a phonecall saying I hadn’t made that days shortlist. But luckily the doctor there did speak to my doctor here so when I finally got back to town and went to hospital they had actually seen my notes. So once again I am on the waiting list. I am resigned to this fate but it is very frustrating and painful, as my wrist cannot heal properly without the operation, so it feels a bit like running against the tide, and its amazing how little I seem able to do with one good left arm.  However today I managed to wash my hair ( with the aid of my rather scary looking plastic arm protector which looks a little like an elephants condom, if you can imagine such a thing) and to put on some deodorant, which I’m sure must bring pleasure  to those around me.

The joy of our camping holiday each August is that we are all old friends, a tribe of family and kindred spirits who have gathered together in the same field for the past 25 years or so, people coming  and going through the years, kids who we brought as babies now bring their friends, friends bring other friends, families come back after not coming for a while, old faces re appear like rays of sunshine, absent loved ones are remembered and toasted around the fire, all joined by the common thread of family, friendship, fresh air and a love of waterproofs. And my goodness there is no one else in the world I would rather be around when the chips are down. 

You know who you are. You have cooked and washed up for me, dried my tears, done up my trousers, cut up my breakfast, my lunch, brought me presents from the car boot sale, driven me to and from hospital ( and beyond) hugged me, made me laugh, opened the marmite jar and spread butter on my toast as I struggle to learn to be left handed.You have cleaned and sorted the camp, packed my van, packed my car, driven me home, done my seat belt up for me, unpacked at the other end, rolled up my bell tent and mattresses ( and fitted them back in the bag). The only thing you havent had to do for me is to wipe my bottom, a fact that we are all heartily grateful for. But the thing is, I know any one of you would have done so if needed.

Thankyou for all you did for me. I love every single one of you, and even though the pots and pans are still in the crate in my kitchen and my bedding still smells of woodsmoke,  I am already looking forward to next August. And being able to play my recorder again.