The day my life changed

Elaine Gould

It was Wednesday 20th June 2007. My husband was away for most of that week at a Law Conference in Skye, and was due to present his conference paper that day. My eighteen year old daughter was going out early to work; she was on placement at a local nursery. I was really looking forward to a peaceful day at home to get on with a number of different tasks before I started work in the late afternoon.

I woke quite early and was unsure if my daughter was up and ready for work. (A typical teenager, she regularly slept in, and was very ungracious if I woke her; also ungracious if I called her and she was already up, and downright unpleasant if she was not called at all!) I called through to her but there was no answer and no sound of movement in the house. I jumped out of bed to go and knock on her door, but because I don't remember it ever happening before, I did not realise that I was suffering from what I think is called 'dead leg'. My left leg buckled under me and I crashed to the floor. Instinctively I put my hands out to save myself, and all my weight fell onto my right hand. Immediately I knew I had done serious damage to my right wrist and my life had changed for ever, though I managed to crawl back to bed in the vain hope that I was wrong and it would be all right in a minute.

My daughter came through shortly afterwards saying I hadn't woken her in time, she was going to be late, and I would have to give her a lift. I told her what had happened, and to her credit she called an ambulance, phoned the nursery to explain that she wouldn't be in, and accompanied me in the ambulance to hospital.

After a little while x-rays and tests were carried out. I made sure it was absolutely clear to everyone that for my job I required maximum mobility and a considerable amount of strength in the wrist. Their faces said it all; I had obviously done something nasty and the chances of a full recovery were slim. I sent my daughter home to make my apologies for not working that day, and gave her strict instructions not to tell her father; he had put so much effort into his presentation for the conference, I did not want him rushing home without having completed it, especially as there was absolutely nothing he could do for us at that stage.

After considerable discussion, the doctors decided to manipulate the broken bones closer to normal position, fit a plaster cast to immobilise it overnight and the following day the orthopaedic consultant would operate to insert a permanent plate. They filled the joint full of anaesthetic, played painful tug-of-war with it, x-rayed it again then plastered it up. I took a taxi home to sort out my business commitments and to talk to my husband.

Later that night, as I was unable to sleep, I began imagining all sorts of complications. The temporary cast felt very tight and my whole arm hurt. Part of me believed this was the result of the injury and the treatment it had received. However, the other part of me imagined the fingers were changing colour and losing sensation. Finally I decided it was better to be safe than sorry, packed an overnight bag, called a taxi, woke my daughter to tell her where I was going and to make sure she fed the cat before she went to work next day, then made my way back to the hospital.

When I arrived, two very sympathetic nurses split the plaster and loosened it. Immediately I felt full circulation return to my hand and fingers and nearly fainted with relief.

This was not a dream; it is real. A year on, I have a plate in my wrist and have had extensive physiotherapy. My wrist neither looks nor feels normal, but I am assured it has made an excellent recovery and that for most other people this would be a wonderful result. The problem is, having been made redundant at Christmas 2006, I had decided to have one last attempt to realise my lifelong ambition of becoming a concert pianist. I am not a quitter and have rebuilt my technique to a level where I can play in public again. My dream is still alive, but a difficult task became a whole lot harder as a result of a stupid misjudgement.