It's Like Being Married To RoboCop

Tonight will be 4 weeks to the day that my husband fractured his ankle.

I know I bang on about it a bit and no more so than in my post "Footballs Not A Funny Old Game" but I feel I need to post again to give an update - and to have it documented on my blog so I can 'gently remind' my husband at a later date about all this.

We went back to the fracture clinic today and he had his plaster removed.

Hurrah!

Hmmm....well almost 'hurrah'. He's now been given an 'Aircast Walker' or 'Beckam Boot' as they are known - because David Beckham once wore one *yawn*.  My husband announces this like it's some sort of trophy. Seriously?  It's no prize for me...quite frankly it's like living with bloody RoboCop.

The thing that grates on me the most is that my husband did this playing football, something that he has said - pretty much every year - he was going to give up.  He's 35 this year....yes, I married a toyboy ;-)

Actually, what probably grates on me the most is that my daughter turns 2 years old next Friday and our yearly trip to Chester Zoo is in jeopardy because of this injury.  Take note if you are my daughter reading this when you're older - Daddy ruined your birthday!

The consultant at the hospital today said when he reviewed his x-ray he can see that he has something called 'Footballers Ankle' which can be caused by continuous kicking to the ankle area.  All those bad tackles coming back to haunt him.  It's seriously hampering his recovery time.

Well, you heard it here first.  He has officially said today that he's packing in the football. I'm not breaking out the champers or buying the party poppers just yet as there is still a chance he'll forget all about this when the new season kicks off.  That's where this post comes in handy.

In the meantime, Mini Cheddar enjoys playing with the velcro straps.

Silent Sunday #4

I know it's no words and I never usually put words on my Silent Sunday post but, just incase you're curious about the 'leg', click here (rant warning!)

Football Is Not A Funny Old Game

Photo credit: renjith krishnan

As I sit here typing furiously (and I mean furiously!) on my laptop I'm listening to my husband ringing clients and suppliers...

"Yeah, I fractured my ankle last night *laughs*"

I can only assume at this point they say "Oh no, poor you.  Is it painful?"

"Yeah it's pretty painful *laughs again*"

I'm sat here looking for the nearest blunt instrument to stab him with.

You may think I'm really mean and unsympathetic.  You'd be right on the lack of sympathy.  I have none for him.  But I'm certainly not mean.  He did it playing football. A sport which has hampered our lives previously but still he continues to play.

About 4 years ago he broke his wrist.  I was at the gym at the time and didn't have my phone with me so the first I knew about it was when I pulled up at our house to discover two blokes in football kits on my driveway waiting for me.  They'd driven my husband's car home as he'd been whisked off in an ambulance.

I ran into the house, fed the dog and dashed to A&E to discover him sitting in a wheelchair white as a sheet with what I can only describe as the most distorted arm ever.  Even looking at it made me feel sick.  He had to stay in hospital and have an operation where it was pinned.   He couldn't do much for months.

I asked him to stop playing football.  He didn't.

Last year he broke his leg.  He actually didn't end up in plaster as he went to the hospital and they said he'd not broken it and didn't even bother to give him an x-ray.  He was in agony for months with it until finally another hospital x-rayed it to discover he had infact broken it.  It was too late to plaster as the bone had already started to heal.

I asked him to stop playing football.  He didn't.

Then last night, I hear the key turn in the door and I wait for the sound of limping (I do this every week as he usually comes home with some small injury).  All I heard was "shit ow" from downstairs.  Then I heard him hobbling to get up the stairs.  "I think I've broken my ankle".  Great.

A phone call to my parents to babysit, a trip to A&E, x-ray, plaster, 4 hours later we are back home in bed.  He's going to be in plaster for 4-6 weeks and can't put any weight on it whatsoever.   That means him doing very little as he's on crutches.  He can't carry our daughter, he can't drive, he can't take a shower without my help, we can't be 'intimate' properly, he is pretty much incapable of doing anything.

I'm not going to bother to ask him to stop playing football.  I'm tired of this game.

The only joy I am going to glean from this is the fact that his mother will hit the roof when she finds out.

Every cloud.......