On the 6th of September, I had a fall, from a height of about 4 meters. I fell as I had been standing, and the impact of the fall was taken by my left leg. This resulted in a compound fracture of the distal tibia, and fracture of the fibula. I knew that all was not right when I noticed that my foot was misaligned by at least 90 degrees, and that there was a suspicious bulge poking under my sock. We should never see our own bones, especially when they are smashed and misplaced, but I looked anyway.

An ambulance took me to Shoalhaven Hospital, where I was ‘reduced’, that is, the bones were returned to their natural positions. As Shoalhaven does not offer orthopedic services, I was that evening transferred to Wollongong Hospital, which became my home for the next 6 weeks.

Friday morning was the first of my appointments in theatre, when the doctors put external fixation clamps on my leg. This held my leg at the correct length, and oriented my foot to my leg, (so I wouldn’t end up pigeon or penguin footed).

Nearly two weeks passed before the soft tissue trauma had subsided enough for the doctors to operate. This time, they were able to pin and screw the broken bones together, a process not made easier by the absence of relatively large areas of bone, which were pulverized by the fall. An incision was made on the outside of the leg, giving access to the broken fibula, and the hole on the inside of the leg, where the tibia had punched through, was extended to allow repair of that bone. Everything was stitched up nicely, and it looked that a fairly fast recovery was possible.

After five weeks, I was allowed to go home, the stitches had come out, but I was stil in my ex fix frame. Monday was clinic day at W’Gong, and as soon as my surgeon saw my wound, he readmitted me. The compound wound, the site where the bone had punched through the skin, had broken down, a hole was forming and the skin in the immediate area was necrosing. I would need to be transferred to St George Hospital in Sydney for a skin graft, as there are no plastic surgeons at Wollongong. The doctors took a swab of the wound sight.

The following Thursday, I was moved from the ward I was in to a single room, an isolation room. I had MRSA, Golden Staph.

I was moved to St George the next day, to another room by myself. Over the next eight days, I had four general anasthetics as my new team of doctors debrided, cleaned and washed. I have been on powerful intravenous antibiotics ever since I arrived here. This morning, the registrar who often fills me in on progress, told me that a sample of deep bone showed the presence of MRSA. I cannot have the graft until I am on top of the infection. I maybe here for some time.

The above is a précis of my time in hospital, some salient points that have got me here, but hardly the story. It’s not even all of the medical stuff, but it’s a start, for me anyway. I can’t see it as being a straight narrative, firstly it would be too boring that way, and I would leave far too much out in the way of detail, and people. So I’ll just tell stories as they arise, it’s less daunting that way, and structure does not become so paramount. Loose and shapeless, just like the leg.