Wheely strange

So it's been three and a half weeks since my unfortunate incident on the slopes. The novelty of being at home and absent from work wore off after about...three days. Commutes and computers, photography and feature writing have been replaced by daytime TV and online shopping. God bless the person who decided that stores should flog their wares on the internet. If I wasn't able to stare at pretty clothes and plan festival outfits all day I would definitely have gone insane by now.

So far my outdoor excursions have been limited to hospital trips and the odd cheeky maccers drive through. Not quite the jam-packed social schedule that an active 22 year old is used to. So when my dear pal/temporary carer Rianna suggested an expedition to Sainsburys I jumped (not literally, of course) at the idea.

Although I'm pretty speedy on my crutches now, hobbling long distance can be pretty tiring. But I will say this - you can wave bye bye to bingo wings when you're on them. I've got rock hard muscles in my formally feeble arms now, which will definitely be a bonus when I get back to my pole lessons. Anyway, I digress. We decided to borrow a wheelchair for our supermarket sweep, mainly for the practicality but also for the giggles.

I surrendered my crutches and settled back for a joy ride courtesy of notorious speed demon Rianna. And as soon as I sat down, a noticeable change in the public's perception of me occurred. We deduced two main categories of stares: the sympathy looks and the desperately-trying-not-to-catch-my-eye quick glances. As I don't have a cast on my leg, it's pretty difficult to tell what's actually wrong with me. The combination of no obvious physical injury and a wheelchair resulted in most of the weekend food shoppers seeming to presume that I was disabled. Cue the stares.

I was either subjected to heart-wrenching looks of pity or completely blanked. I'm not sure which was worse. I guess actual concern is better than being ignored. I just couldn't believe how being in that chair transformed the way people looked at and treated me. Choosing to look over my head rather than in my eye felt like a social snub, as if I wasn't deserving of attention or capable of interaction. Like being below the normal height also meant I was below normal human contact.

It's something I've never really considered before, having never been in this situation or known anyone in it. But now I've experienced it first hand, even for such a short time, I can see why people who are permanently in chairs have campaigned for fairer, equal treatment. A broken back doesn't mean a broken mind, and while some physical tasks are impossible or much more difficult, holding a conversation isn't. It was an interesting experience, and what started as a simple shopping trip turned into a mini social experiment. I'm not sure whether I want to repeat it, but I'll make sure to share it if I do!

Getting legless in Samoens

There are a few things that are impossible to maintain while in hospital. 1) Your dignity 2) Your appearance 3) Even the most remote chance of pulling.

After a successful three days of skiing (and I rate success by the lack of non-fatal injuries sustained) my debut on the sunny slopes was coming to an end. I'd mastered the art of the snow plow and was managing to make it down a blue run without ending up buried in a snow drift, limbs tangled in a gangly heap. The last run of the day approached, with the prospect of a calorie-laden cheese-based meal and a few cheeky shots of baby Guiness on the horizon. As I neared the end and spotted my friends who had already sped down, something strange happened. I fell. That in itself wasn't strange, it had become a pretty regular and often hilarious occurrence. After flipping over a few times (subsequently landing on my face and breaking my ray bans, boo) I felt a strange sensation in my left leg. As I brought it round to try and get myself back up, I realised that it wasn't doing what I wanted. In fact, it wasn't doing anything at all. It was just kind of hanging there at the end of my knee, wobbling away in quite a merry way. It seemed that this stack had hurt more than just my pricey sunglasses.

After stifling their laughter and realising that something quite serious had happened, my friends came over to see what was up. When they spotted the bottom of my leg, facing the wrong way, they realised that my cries of 'I'VE BROKEN MY LEGGGG!!!!' weren't as exaggerated as they'd presumed.

Cue a treacherous trip back up the mountain and to the main road strapped in a gurney being tugged along by a ski-doo and an ambulance ride to the local clinic. An x-ray confirmed that I had broken both the bones in my lower left leg. Not only had I broken them, I had a displaced fracture which meant that the bones were no longer in line. Through the babbling of broken English I managed to make out the word 'surgery'. Looks like those drinks wouldn't be on the agenda that evening.

I'll spare most of the boring and gruesome details, but after coming out of surgery on Sunday evening I had three days stuck in a hospital bed with only a single French television channel for company. Oh, and the most beautiful male nurse to have ever existed. He should have been gracing the covers of magazines, not cleaning up my vomit. Sadly, this combined with the fact that I hadn't washed my hair for a good five days and hadn't a scrap of make up on my face, meant that the chances of my feelings being reciprocated were virtually impossible. At least my daydreams kept me occupied during the lonnnng days and nights spent lying in bed.

Now I'm back home and off work for the foreseeable future. So far my days have been spent curled up with Gossip Girl and The Real Housewives of Atlanta for company, and the occasional trip out to the glamorous destination of McDonalds drive through. Hence starting up this blog again, to stop my usually busy brain from disintegrating into a pile of GG quotes and Daily Mail gossip. God help me...