Post-fracture emotional rollercoaster

Hitting the post-fracture emotional rollercoaster.


When it happened I was determined to try to stay as calm as possible, didn't want to freak out, and so I basically just chatted to anyone who was near, tried to make jokes, get my mind off thinking about the fact it was basically snapped, and a bit had blinkin' well gone through to the outside world.


That got me through. No shouting or screaming, a couple of moments of almost tears as guilt built up with Mel driving me to the hospital, but an acknowledgement that everything was temporary, and the good people of the NHS could and would fix me as best as was possible.


I've stayed upbeat with everyone I've talked to, realising how lucky I am in that there's no apparent major nerve damage, and I did nothing else (and the bike is completely unscathed).


Underneath that there's a simmering anger with myself for this happening, and a growing resentment of what the recovery time means. Training was going well, the weekend just gone I'd signed up for my first couple of cross races of the season, dammit but I was feeling good.


Time off the bike is just annoying because I know, more than the physical health benefits, it's my mental health check. My time with no other thoughts, or conversely a time to think things through properly. Time to de-stress.


On top of that I know (from previous tumbles) there will be a psychological step to get over when I finally do get back in the saddle. This one feels scary. I was down before I knew it, there was nothing I could do, no way I could have done anything different to stop it. The option? Essentially stop riding when the weather is bad, and stick to a turbo so I keep that fitness thing going. I guess I should be able to live with that.


Kills me, though, that I can't carry my camera, it's just too heavy to shoot with my right hand. My other escape. I might be able to get away with the small lens on board in a few days. The return to wildlife photography, and the massive 500mm lens, is some way off.


But. I can still draw. I wanted to see if that was the case today, and it's rougher than normal, but I managed to drag out an illustration for a weekly thing I do for one of the departments at work (entirely ironically their topic this week involves having to pay for healthcare in the US).


On top of everything I know the worry Mel goes through every single day I get on the bike, and incidents like Tuesday don't really help that. By the same token if I wasn't able to get on the bike I'd be a completely different person. Completely.


I need to find a balance (I'm sure there's a pun in there). I need to find the mental strength I had from the time I fell till the time I was discharged. I need to be patient. And I need to be willing to put in the work again. With a big fucking black dog just behind me.


"It could've been worse" goes some way. A target of racing in early 2018 may or may not be sensible or reasonable. Will photographing the cross season make me feel better or worse? Is it a chance to try and emulate the photos of Jay Golian? (best cross photographer in Scotland at the mo). Will I be forced into finishing the illustrations for my childrens book? Is this a blessing in disguise?


So many questions, and I don't know if I'll be able to answer them all. I don't know if I even should try to answer them all, but rather just see where everything goes. There will be days when the constant aching pain puts me into depths over the next few weeks, and times when recounting the tale makes me feel like I'm in the boat in Jaws drinking whisky and swapping stories of scars.


While this post? Just getting it off my chest. And I may disappear occasionally. I may not.


But I'll be changing the dressing tomorrow, so at the very least you'll get a gruesome stitches photo to gawp at.