In the territory of ‘don’t sweat the small stuff’ (but maybe the big fall)
Picture this: five months after my left hip was replaced and just two weeks after the right one was replaced, I found myself flat on my back on the bathroom floor — living proof that gravity still works.
For the uninitiated, when your hips are replaced they make it very clear: thou shalt not bend more than 90 degrees — lest one (or both) of those shiny new joints pop out like champagne corks on New Year’s Eve.
On the day of ‘The Incident’, I was heading for the shower as one does when one wishes to smell less like Deep Heat and more like a functioning human. Naturally, this all happened after I had removed every stitch of clothing. Of course it did.
My darling husband (aka My Well-Meaning Knight with ‘Damaged’ Shoulders) has a strict no heavy lifting policy. I, unfortunately, am well above his approved weight limit. So, when he arrived ready to be my hero, there wasn’t a lot of rescuing going on — just two people staring at each other pondering, “Now what?”
Being the practical woman I am, I devised a plan: I’d shuffle to the bed and hoist myself up. Well, over 10 minutes later — and after several strategic rest breaks which could qualify as naps — I had to admit defeat. My brilliant plan was downgraded to, at best, a fantasy.
Hubby suggested calling an ambulance. I resisted; pride is a powerful thing! However, eventually, reality (and the cold floor) convinced me he was right.
He tried the non-emergency number (105), only to be told — rather firmly — to call 111 and that I’d be added to their ‘to-do list.’ Lovely!
While waiting for the cavalry, I thought I might at least upgrade my look so I managed to wriggle myself into a T-shirt and knickers. Let’s call it, ‘Emergency Casual.’
As I lay there, I thought what I really needed wasn’t an ambulance, it was the Jaws of Life. You know, that thing firefighters use to pry apart mangled car wrecks?
I’m confident it could’ve made quick work of my situation. Though, to be fair, I probably wouldn’t need the Jaws of Life if I could just lose a few kilos.
After a brief interlude, two lovely ambulance women arrived. They were very amused that my husband had described me as 56. I’m still not sure where those 10 lost years went, but I’m considering keeping them.
They came bearing a miraculous device — an inflatable cushion. Think: a cross between a Lilo and a life raft for fallen hip patients.
I shuffled myself onto it (gracefully, of course), and they began pressing buttons. The cushion’s battery unit burst into life and started inflating in stages, like some sort of bouncy castle of salvation. By stage four, I was slowly rising — like a majestic soufflé — back to my feet.
The two ‘angels’ apologised for the delay, explaining they had returned to base to pick up the cushion — not every ambulance carries one. Which is tragic because this thing was a game changer. However, the cost of one is a mere $10,000!
From arrival to farewell, the whole operation took about 20 minutes, including assessment, cushion inflation, and paperwork. It was quite an experience. So, for anyone who finds themselves in a similar predicament….Call 111 and be sure to ask for the inflatable cushion — and, while you’re at it, maybe a sense of humour if you feel like one is needed.