From :

Wagon. A cranky contary female / an ugly female. She\'s some wagon eh?

wagon. wagon - an awful woman. than one is such a wagon!

wagon. a woman thats a bitch. dat ones a right wagon.

Wagon. A cantankerous old woman.. Yer wan's some wagon, I asked her could I feed the seagulls and she lifted me out of it!

wagon. car or other mode of transport. i'll drive my waggon.

Wanderly Wagon. A much loved Irish children's TV program which ran from 1968 to 1982

Friday 16 March 2012

Adieu, Cast!

Finally, after seven long weeks, it was time to say goodbye to my cast and have the pins in my wrist removed.  I'm not usually nervous about medical procedures (unless I know it's going to hurt like hell) but I was in an absolute blue funk as we drove in to Apt hospital early on Tuesday morning - I've no idea why.  The LSH knows better than to try to cheer me up when I'm like that, so the 25 minute drive passed in gloomy silence.  

Here's the x-rays, taken at week 5 :
That one that's going diagonally
gave me no end of grief
I waited in the day ward for what seemed like years, but was in fact only two hours, attempting to read a trashy novel, until eventually I was wheeled away and parked outside the sterile unit.  My cast was removed before I was allowed in there, which was just as well, considering the amount of horse filth it's been exposed to, and my wrist was exposed in all its puny, pale, peely glory.  A good scrape with a Betadine soaked swab later, it was deemed sufficiently sterile to be allowed into theatre and in I went.

All the staff (bar one slightly dour nurse) were being very kind as they hooked me up to various machines and drips, making valiant attempts to speak to me in English.  Good job, too, I was so nervous that I'd pretty much forgotten all the French I've ever learnt.  Stupid, I know, but we can't control these things.

Anyway, there I was, attached to the drip, which had something in it to relax me, maybe Valium.  Whatever it was, I was watching the ceiling spinning around overhead and feeling pretty mellow when the  nurse asked my weight (in French).  I made sure beforehand that I knew my weight in Kilos - I'm about 58kg.  I have no idea what on earth possessed me to say, most emphatically, "cent cinquante huit" (one hundred and fifty eight).  Surprised, the nurse asked me to repeat - apparently I don't look like I'm 348lb/24 stone!  This time I helpfully listed off the digits, with attitude, UN, CINQ, HUIT, although maybe a little slurred.  At which point the anaesthetist intervened.  I think he's spent time in the US, because he speaks English with an American accent.  He assumed I was giving my weight in pounds, a reasonable assumption, after all why would anyone just stick a random "hundred" in front of a number?  Doing a conversion in his head, he told the nurse I was 72kg.  At this stage I couldn't keep my eyes open, let alone speak, so I drifted off to lala-land blissfully unaware...

Well, I have never been so completely wiped out after a General Anaesthetic before.  I can only assume I'd been given enough knock-out juice for someone 25% heavier than me.  Maybe I'm wrong, maybe they did actually refer to my chart (which most definitely said I'm 58kg) and I was wiped out because it was my second GA in seven weeks.  I'll never know.  I spent the rest of Tuesday sleeping, on and off.  I tried to walk the dogs and generally do useful stuff on Wednesday, but my body just didn't want to know about it.  I ended up falling asleep on the couch late in the afternoon, waking up in time to go to Anne's flat for dinner and then going home and falling asleep again.  Thursday was a bit better, then on Friday I was beginning to feel human again (see below). 

Apart from this, I can only praise the French medical system, they've looked after me really well.  The local nurse is calling TO THE HOUSE every two days to change the dressing on my wrist!  I'm supposed to go for physio too - twelve sessions of it.  Not sure if that's covered on the EHIC card too, but I can always claim it back off my health insurance!

The very nice surgeon gave me a cert for work and sports.  Hmm, no heavy lifting and no sporting activities for 45 days?  Ok, the LSH has to do all the carrying, and I'm not allowed do tennis, gymnastics, boxing or climbing then.  Horse riding is a form of transport, not a sport, right?

Back in the saddle three days after surgery.  Woohoo!
I was moderately sensible and only rode for 15mins or so... I could have kept going but I decided to behave!

@Helen W, thanks for your suggestion about a skate-boarding wrist guard - it works a treat!


  1. Glad you got rid of that cast and that your wrist healed well. Happy Trails!

  2. Thanks Annette, fingers crossed :D

  3. Nice to see you back on board!

  4. Horse riding is good therapy for a recovering wrist - every doctor worth his bucket of oats knows that.
    - The Equestrian Vagabond

  5. Thanks Helen & Merri, totally agree Merri, horse riding is good for the soul and general tissue repair ;D

  6. Great news! I would say horse riding is an essential part of the recovery process ;)