freddiefraggles: (chicks dig scars)
[personal profile] freddiefraggles
I dislike plaster casts. I never have liked them, since ten years ago. Of course, nowadays they're not really made from plaster (thankfully) but they're still rubbish to live with. This last four weeks seems to have been worse for me, mentally, than the twelve months with the frame*.

You don't ever feel clean when you wash with a flannel. Not being able to shower every morning (or know that I could have a shower if I had the spoons or could be bothered) and having to get Mum to help me with bin bags and towels for the weekly-ish quick shower. And I don't enjoy it because I am constantly worried that water will get past the towel and two bin bag precautions.

It's horrible. And I'm fed up of feeling fed up and knowing that I have to not vocalize my annoyance too often. No one likes a broken record.

Anyway. Clinic in the morning, two weeks earlier than it should have been, post-op due to family holiday in a fortnight. Mr Calder might give me a new plaster cast. Or a different sort of plaster cast. Or not a plaster cast at all. Who knows.

* Realistically, the first four to eight weeks of the frame were probably around the same level, but I was so drugged up I have no idea.
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Miss Freddie

June 2013

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