Winter Blues
Between the ages of one and ten, every year I spent either Christmas or my birthday (February), or both, in hospital.
Six weeks traction, one week bed rest followed by one or two weeks physio was the norm. In the 1960s early 70s that was standard treatment for femur fractures. I only really broke femurs, over and over. Slips or trips from standing height, or the odd tumble from a bicycle. The last one I remember clearly, I was 10 years old I waltzed out the front door onto the freshly shoveled step my Dad had carefully cleared of snow, but left behind a solid sheet of ice, ouch! Amazingly I’ve never been a wheelchair user, only temporary use of crutches due to healing fractures.
Needless to say the winter months just paralyze me in fear, when I started driving at 19 it was freedom. Dad would worry about me driving in the ice and snow whilst I would boast I’d drive up Mount Everest in a snow storm, singing “Here in my car I feel safest of all, it’s the only way to live in cars! ”
The problem was getting into my car! Those few steps from house to car were like a ravine. It became a real problem when I started work. I would go to elaborate lengths to avoid taking even a few steps in anything remotely icy . I’d bum shuffle to car, drive to train station, disabled parking right at door, then get a taxi to drop me at door of work. All to avoid walking through the car park. The trip was 30mins by car but took at least an hour by train and taxi. There was of course sicky days and using my holidays, anything to avoid leaving the house.
When the children came along they missed school a few times, at least until they were old enough to walk up and down themselves , their school was 10mins away. One time I decided to walk down, seemed all clear, until I seen two people fall to the ground in front of me , then down I went too, thankfully nothing broken but I was so shaken I crawled to a grass verge, rang my sister, who worked nights, to come and rescue me. Although many businesses throw down salt, that itself is lethal, my feet just seem to slide over it like walking on marbles!
Even though I’m in my sixties now and haven’t actually fractured since my twenties, nothings changed, I’m still terrified. Hubby’s only realising how paranoid I am since he retired. “Don’t overthink it” he says,” take confident steps” he forgets the two times HE slipped on our door step and landed on his back ! Over the years I’ve tried various contraptions strap on spikes, dozens of “slip proof ” shoes and wellies, pulling socks over my shoes (handy only being a size 2) and I suppose they have been successful, no fractures, but the real problem is the fear that never goes away.
