Climb Every Mountain

I'm off to Physio this morning. Never did I think I'd be going there again. I thought and hoped I'd left all that behind me a couple of years ago. My ligament was healing nicely - a pelvic ligament - um - actually it's above the pubic bone so it doesn't fit into my top ten things to chat about over a cappuccino. Not remotely. Anyway back to today. I'd been doing so well. I'd even climbed a mountain on my recent holiday. Well, half way up anyway, but that still counts. And sitting half way up Ingleborough sharing a bar of kendal mint cake (chocolate covered no less) with my 7 year old daughter was bliss. I explained to her that when I'd grown up in North Yorkshire the view out of my bedroom window had been of this very mountain. So that half-way-up walk meant as much to me as an all-the-way-to-the-top walk on any other mountain.

When we got back I was exhilarated. Yes! I'd done it. It really was one of those defining moments. Not only had I managed to climb half-way up a mountain but I'd taken my daughter to Manchester to see my old college stomping ground (whilst she took me to Old Trafford footie stadium). I took her to the Albert Docks in Liverpool and the Tate Gallery (she took me to Anfield Football stadium). So we did lots. We packed it in, a veritable santa's sack of activities.

So it comes as something of a surprise to be having this set-back. Two days after coming home I was due in Hospital for what was called an 'exploratory' op: a hysteroscopy. They wanted to make sure all was as it should be as my monthly periods had gone a bit mad. I don't want to risk it I told them - my ligament may get stretched again. All that 'there there hysterical woman you'll be fine' bit came out as they reassured me I would be OK. More fool me for believing them.

Because I wasn't fine. 24 hours post-op and I could hardly walk. Could hardly crawl. Going upstairs felt like running up Ingleborough (right to the top this time). It was agony and that's how it carried on. I can only imagine that under anaesthetic my legs were pulled, pushed, tweaked and finally shoved, a-kimbo, over my head with such gusto I'm surprised my trolley didn't come shooting out of theatre with me screaming 'take me home!'. Only no such luxury when we're 'under' - we know nothing till the deed is done.

The Doctor now tells me the prognosis is mixed: the offending ligament may come true again, but it may take longer than last time because it has re-injured a pre-existing weakness. My Physio is jolly chipper - she tells me I may never recover. Well jolly great but you know what, I ain't listening. If I thought it wouldn't come right again then I may just run to the top of the nearest mountain and stay there. But then did running away ever solve anything? Don't know but at least I wouldn't have to face the situation anyway - there are no mirrors up there for a start, so I wouldn't see myself and say 'hello you, yes, it really did happen'. No, I am sticking it out down on planet earth and hoping for the best.

But I do know one thing. No more exploratory ops for me - ever. I will wait till I'm well and truly dragged in there out of necessity before I go in hospital again.

So I'm trying to find plenty of things to do that you can do whilst 'resting'. They keep telling me I should be 'resting'. How does the concept of resting go side by side with having a child to look after? Tricky to be sure. Especially as the long 6 week holidays are almost upon us. Help! School! Cancel the holidays for this summer only! The holidays are usually my favourite time, and we had such plans, most of them involving sandy beaches and maybe even a little sunshine. Plans now will be curtailed for the foreseeable. Just off to rest.