My Left Leg

My left leg has gone woke.

I’ve had to curtail my entrepreneurial activities due to sudden mobility problems. I have had my left leg for nearly 88 years. I have no complaints, it has given me excellent service as indeed has my right leg. They have both worked in perfect harmony. From everyday mooching around to situations requiring a swift exit or climbing my way out of trouble they were up to the task.Between them they have carried out my commands in exemplary fashion.You could say I’m truly attached to them.

However, my left leg is no longer in sync with my right leg. It has abandoned conventional wisdom and chosen a different path causing mobility mayhem.I suspect it has caught a woke bug, probably becoming infected when resting on the television stand. As a result I have sometimes finished up in a crumpled heap on the pavement.. There is no warning, one moment I am standing straight as an arrow the next thing I see a worried face peering down at me and a voice asking ‘Are you alright sir?’

After one nasty fall which took me into serious ooh-aah-ouch territory and a need for one of those striped vehicles with a loud blue siren. Unfortunately they were rather busy so I made do with a mouthful of Paracetamol tablets. I realised this was a job for the NHS. This would be right up their street,they will know what to do, I thought.

I should point out this is unfamiliar territory for me.Apart from the annual flu jab and a few pills from the chemist my knowledge is zero. My first task; I was told to ring my GP at 08.00 hours.the next day.This proved difficult. A voice kept repeating ‘The line is busy’ .It seems there were a lot of people making the same call or maybe the doctor has a lot of friends.Eventually, with the persistence of a family member we discovered my GP was on maternity leave.However her replacement arranged a scan of my left leg.

There followed an impressive string of appointments with various specialists in such matters. The hospital was like a different planet with a veritable armada of zimmer frames, wheelchairs and crutches supporting people scurrying hither and thither in all directions. The scan couldn’t find anything wrong with my leg ? There followed a Physio who referred me to a rehab specialist.He recommended a spine specialist as the pain became unmanageable. I happily paid privately for a specialist including an MRI scan.This also proved inconclusive.All the experts seemed puzzled and in the meantime my leg problem worsened.

The doctor prescribed stronger pain killers with the warning they would cause constipation problems in contrast to my diabetic pills which give me diarrhea.

At times I didn’t know whether to sit,stand,go to bed,shave or emulsion the kitchen ceiling.Everything became more difficult,even pulling on my trousers. The left leg developed a mind of its own and ignored my commands. It even tried to squeeze into the right trouser leg with the danger of contaminating my good leg. It is hard to appreciate the simple act of walking across your front room to pick up the paper has suddenly become a formidable challenge.

My last appointment with a Neurophysiologist proved to be more enlightening.Having endured nearly 2 months of pain and immobility I was hopeful of a final solution.

‘The nerves in your leg are not communicating with each other’ he said.

‘Why’s that?’ I enquired

‘It’s to do with your blood sugar levels, it’s not incurable but you will need intensive physio treatment and it can take up to three years.’

‘Huh! 3 years?’

I really don’t understand why in this technically advanced world we live in, men can win olympic marathons with a couple of pieces of bent up tin having somehow lost their original legs.Men can travel to outer space and communicate billions of miles away in an instant. My left leg needs three years to cover a distance of a few inches. Maybe I should contact a specialist at Cape Canaveral.

When you are immobile and limited to the view from your front window,it is not enough to be counting how many bricks in your neighbours garage, every time I finish up with a different total.which is really annoying. Or playing, eye spy with my little eye, with my four year old great grandson.He cheats anyway. There are some positives though. I have learned extra skills with my crutch. I can use it to draw the curtains,switch the lights on and off, manoeuvre cups and plates into a more favourable position. The circular arm support can carry a pint of whatever you fancy. The short handle bar serves as a hanger for my socks and doubles up as an anchorage for leg stretching exercises (as demonstrated by the physio.)

If in a really bad mood you can squash ants,spiders and other small insects.Well- these intruders have six legs, it’s like rubbing salt in the wound.God help any centipede who crosses my threshold,they’ll get the full zimmer treatment. I don’t understand why such a small insect needs all those legs when we humans who do all the big stuff have to make do with just 2. How on earth did our maker decide to give him all these legs. He can’t play football or climb mountains. I reckon he must have had apprentices to help him.It seems very haphazard.

‘Hey God- sir, what shall I do with all these legs left over, shall I bin-em?’

‘Nar-nar -just- stick ’em on those little wriggly things in category C, Lad.

For the golf enthusiast; with a slight alteration to the circular foot you have an excellent practice putter.My golfing days ended 35 years ago,when i spliced my shot right outside the club house.There is usually a small crowd gathered here to admire players progress with encouraging shouts,

‘great shot sir!

‘Wow that’s a beauty’

There were only muffled groans as my ball zipped into the car park with the worrying noise of several loud thuds. I strode down the centre of the green cupping my hand over my eyes scanning the distant horizon.

“It’s in the car park, ” shouted my golfing companion, waving his arms .

I shook my head vigorously and pointed straight down the fairway not wanting to confirm to the crowd I had clouted somebody’s car. My golfing partner never spoke to me again when he discovered a large dent on the roof of his new volkswagen.

I have to say I am generally impressed with the NHS and the way they have dealt with my ailment. Next week I’m expecting an explanation as to how they intend to proceed towards waking my left leg. More later.