After being confined to the spare bedroom for a bit the man came to fit extra handrails and I had the run of the house again. Soon, with the help of friends, I started to make forays outside, walking to the park or round the block. Soon I was able, with the aid of a stick, to walk to the corner shop. I was making a really good recovery. I could walk short distances without a stick, albeit rather jerkily. I was very proud of my progress. We all know what follows pride!
Before my stroke 1had about 240 items listed on Ebay on behalf of the Wooden Canal Boat Society. A few people got very upset because their purchases didn't arrive as I wasn't in a position to post them. I gave Emuna my login details and she managed to delist them all while I was in hospital.
Ended listings on Ebay don't stay in limbo for ever, they eventually disappear and you have to start from scratch if you still want to sell them. I didn't fancy that, so I started to re-activate the listings. The first time I got a sale I had a lit to and from the shop, where sales items are store, with Canis in the van.
Next time I had a lift in, then walked to the 'bus station and got a 'bus home. It was the Hazelhurst circular service. Em had warned me about this 'bus being full of unpleasant young people who wouldn't let her have the priority seat and told her she didn't need her wheelchair. Sadly, this kind of behaviour towards disabled people is all too common. My experience was very different. The passengers were mostly old ladies. I had a nice chat with a lady in her eighties who still enjoys line dancing as we travelled up to Hazelhurst. I eventually got off at the penultimate stop on Henrietta St as the 'bus returned to Ashton.
I enjoyed that day, but it exhausted me. One effect of a stroke that takes a long time to go is extreme tiredness. I rested the following day.
My confidence was building. I kept looking at my unemployed bike in the garden.
I sold another item so, before Em was up in the morning I wheeled it out on to the road. My first attempt at riding wasn't successful. I tried to start off with my left (good) foot but found that my right foot couldn't find the pedal quickly enough to keep going. I tried again starting with my right foot, and I was on my way.
Although I was keen not to fall off I wasn't too worried as I've fallen off bikes loads of times and never done more damage than scratches and bruises.
By carefully timing my arrival at traffic lights I reached the shop with only one stop, with a handy kerb on my left to put my good foot on.
Stopping at the shop was a different matter. I fell over, but didn't hurt myself.
I soon had the items wrapped up so I set off again to post them at the corner shop near home. My route took me through the market place which, being currently regenerated, had narrow walkways which were crowded. I got stuck behind some ambling pedestrians and had to go unsustainably slow. The proprietor of a stall selling electtricity or time share or somesuch took the mickey out of my wobbly riding. I responded fiercely. I simply couldn't keep going at that speed so I dismounted successfully, if a bit unsteadily. A shrivelled old lady with two sticks came to ask if I was OK. We had a brief conversation about our ailments. She had arthritis.
With no suitable kerb for getting started I had to walk to the Prince of Orange before I could remount. From there I headed past the council offices and up Penny Meadow as I'd mislaid my favourite hat at the Jasmine Cafe. It was shut, so I carried on to the traffic lights. The uphill bit was hard but I managed. I followed the back streets then managed a wobble free stop at home. Success!
My riding could only get better, or so I thought.
Next week I had more sales, and the WCBS newsletters needed posting. I arranged to meet Helen Kanes at the shop to help me get these things done.
My ride into Ashton was straightforward. I reached the shop before Christine arrived to open up. As I came to a halt on the pavement I thought through my strategy for dismounting, then, something strange happened. My mind suddenly went blank. The bike, inevitably, toppled over, depositing me on the hard paving slabs. My right hip took the main blow and it hurt.
Someone came out of the hairdressers with a chair for me to sit on. Passers by helped me to get up and sit in it, but the pain was excruciating every time my right leg was moved.
Christine and Helen arrived to open the shop. Somebody called an ambulance, then Helen waited with me for a hour or so until it arrived. I kept insisting that I was only bruised, but deep down I knew that it was worse.
When the ambulance arrived the crew confirmed that my hip was broken. More excruciating pain as they loaded me on to a stretcher.
Helen came with me to the hospital where I was quickly Xrayed. 2 days later I was fitted with half a new bionic hip. Apparently the socket bit was OK but the ball that fits into it was smashed.
Once again I'm learning how to walk, this time with the aid of a zimmer frame.
I've been riding bikes since I was 8 and in that time I've fallen off countless times. Each time I got cuts and bruises, but nothing to worry about. Of course, in the past, my bones were made of rubber.
I'm 73 now and the rubber seems to have transmuted into bone china.
I've just been studying adverts for electric trikes.