The Stockholm Marathon and me, part 3

One of the first problems I had to overcome was that fact that my bedroom and bathroom were upstairs. I could barely walk across the room on the crutches, so tackling 15 steep stairs was quite a challenge. I managed to work out a method that involved two set of crutches – one pair downstairs and one up. I could then climb the stairs with one crutch and holding onto the banister. At the top of the stairs I collected another crutch that allowed me to walk to the bathroom. – I would then reverse the procedure on the way back down. Another problem I had was getting my meals from the kitchen to the front room where I could sit and watch television whilst I ate. Initially, I solved this by putting the plate on a tray which I then pushed along the floor with the crutches as I walked. I upgraded this concept later when I found a little wheeled platform, ostensibly for moving heavy plant pots around in the garden, but ideal for moving along the floor across the room and with less effort and spillage than the tray!

One thing I did have a problem with was the blood-thinning injections I had been told to administer by the Swedish hospital. In some countries it is normal practice after an operation like mine to take such a substance to avoid a potentially fatal blood clot from developing. The drug needed to be injected into the tummy, subcutaneously. However, I found that I developed a very sore area with the injections and they became painful to administer. I asked my doctor if I needed to continue with them and he said I could stop, so that was a relief. Funny to think that, now I have diabetes, I inject myself four times a day, and often in the very same place as those blood-thinning injections! However, insulin pens have much shorter needles, and rarely hurt.

About two weeks after returning I had the staples removed from my leg. The nurses commented on how neat the surgeons had been, and it is true because now the scar is barely discernible. I was off work for three months. During that time I gradually moved back into the ‘real world’, but it wasn’t until three months that my consultant allowed me to put weight on my ‘bad’ leg. I had become quite adept at caring for myself, although the support of my friends was always there when I needed it. I developed a technique of shopping at the local co-op which involved putting the basket on the floor and pushing it around the store with my crutches. Many times I was asked if I needed help, but I always declined. What people didn’t realise was, that this was an adventure for me – the chance to see a little bit of the world, to browse the shelves and select whatever caught my eye – so I didn’t really want people to just fill my basket and speed my purchases.

Something that I found quite remarkable during my recovery was the amount of food I consumed! As a person who now has diabetes, I think back on that time with horror, amazement and envy. Horror at the thought of what all that food would do to me now, amazement at the fact that, even though I was consuming probably 6,000 calories a day with barely any activity at all, I actually lost weight – and envy at the thought of the loss of freedom I now face to consume whole battenburgs or boxes of jaffa cakes without penalty.

The Stockholm Marathon and me, part 2

At midnight on Sunday they took me to the operating theatre. I was sure that I had asked for the general, but they asked me to lean forward on the operating table so they could give me the local anaesthetic injection in the spine. This would ‘put my legs to sleep’. I still had my doubts as I lay back down, but then I looked up and noticed that they had my leg raised up in the air and were examining it. I had felt nothing! It was a bit disconcerting having no feeling below the waist, and a little fear that the feeling may never return. After a short while of trying to observe what was going on…I fell asleep! I found it hard to believe afterwards, given the amount of metalwork in my leg and the amount of cutting, banging and hammering that must have gone on! But on reflection, I had just run the best part of a marathon, had virtually no sleep for 30 hours and been drugged up to the eyeballs, so maybe I was a little tired, if not exhausted. I’m sorry I missed the interesting parts of the operation though!

When I woke up I was being wheeled into the recovery room. I remember seeing a clock and that it said 2:20, so the operation had taken just under two and a half hours. I was kept under observation for a few hours there and then returned to my little room. I remember that the took scans of my bladder and recorded how much urine I passed afterwards, to check that my organs were working correctly after the operation.

Finally, I got some sleep! After the operation I was confined to my bed throughout Monday. A man from the marathon committee brought me the clothes and valuables that I had left at the marathon start point. He had obviously heard what had happened, and jokingly also gave me a t-shirt. With a big grin he translated the wording on the shirt – it said, ‘I’m training for the 2005 Stockholm Marathon’! We both laughed!

I was extremely well looked after by all the Swedish nurses, doctors and domestic staff. We had fun trying to identify some of the food I was being given as the kitchen staff could not speak English, and my Swedish certainly wasn’t up to the task. I had a frequent visitor too – the young man who had called for the ambulance came and visited me several times during my stay, to check that I was OK and also just to give me some company to help pass the time. It was so kind of him, and endeared me even more to the Swedish people.

By Tuesday I was able to finally stand and walk very slowly on crutches. I finally had a shower, three days after running the best part of a marathon! By this time, I had missed my flight home, so was having to negotiate with the insurance company to arrange a new flight and also transport from the airport to my home. We finally got a flight arranged for the Thursday morning, with a taxi to the airport and another to take me home from Heathrow. The Swedish taxi driver was a very cultured man, in a very smart car (a Mercedes, I think). He was more like a chauffeur than a taxi driver! The staff at the airport were great, and I got particularly close attention from the air stewardesses, which was nice. The only worry was that I was in an aisle seat, and the two passengers sitting to my right decided that, rather than me getting up to let them through, they would climb over me to get to their seats – a very anxious moment, as I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone even touching my leg at that time.

Things became very British when we landed at Heathrow. The ground staff had been expecting me, but had brought the wrong sized wheelchair to take me off the plane, so I had to walk down the aisle. After that though, everything proceeded well. The taxi driver had a large people- carrier, so there was plenty of room for me to sit with my leg stretched out, as I was unable to bend it much at this time. I phoned ahead and a dear friend of mine was there to meet me. She had prepared everything for me, making sure I had plenty to eat and drink, some cheap joggers to sit around in, and a warm quilt to wrap around me as I recovered in front of the television.

The Stockholm Marathon and me, part 1

Woke today with aching limbs! Not a surprise really, as it had been some time since my last run and even though it was a ‘gentle’ one, it still took quite an effort! It normally takes me a week or two to get up to speed – I’m expecting to be running around 5-6 miles at around 8’30-9’00” pace in a couple of weeks…we’ll see.

I am always conscious of how my legs are feeling, and no longer do the 10 miles a day I might have done a few years ago. Five years ago I was running in the Stockholm Marathon. I had enjoyed it the first time in 2003, but had returned hoping to improve my time. It’s a beautiful city and, although it was a little too hot for marathon running, I was enjoying the sights and the atmosphere. I was gearing up for the final three miles – the end practically in sight – when I heard an enormous crack. I didn’t associate it with myself, but when I next put down my right leg I noticed that it was a strange shape. Then, as my weight came to bear on it, my leg collapsed from under me. I was very confused. There was no pain, but it looked like my knee had ‘popped out’. I tried to get up, but quickly realised that the leg wasn’t going to support me, and I crashed face-first onto the tarmac. I had broken my femur, the longest, thickest and strongest bone in the human body!

A young man who had been watching from the side of the road immediately rushed forward. He was Swedish, in his mid 20’s, and as soon as he saw me he got on his mobile phone for an ambulance. They arrived very quickly. By now I was pretty much aware of what had happened, as I had broken my arm a few years previously, and I could feel the pain coming. I was still facedown on the tarmac, not wanting to move, but the ambulance men said that they had to move me so they could administer morphine and get me into the ambulance. I was swearing and, being English and polite, apologising for swearing! The pain became unbearable, despite the morphine. I was loaded into the back of the ambulance and driven quickly off to the hospital. I remember that they had taken my running shoe off and asking if they still had it.

The next thing I remember was being in the Emergency department, being examined by a lady doctor. I began to shake uncontrollably as the shock began to set in. I could see on a heart monitor that my heart rate was over 200, which is pretty much off the scale for a man my age – my resting heart rate at that time, because I was very fit, was around 40 beats per minute. More drugs, and I eventually found myself in bed in a room, by myself and still wearing my running clothes (minus the shoes!). Bear in mind that I had just run 23 miles in hot weather in these clothes, they would not have won any ‘fresh aroma’ awards! The one small benefit was that the morphine had relaxed my muscles, so I didn’t feel any of the stiffness and soreness from the run!

I was scheduled for a operation that night and the surgeon came to ask me if I wanted it with a local or general anaesthetic. The local was better, he said as there were fewer risks. However, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be awake for the operation. He said I could change my mind later. As it happened, I couldn’t have the operation that day (this was now Saturday evening), and had to wait until the following day. That meant no food or anything to drink until the operation, although I was on a drip for fluids. I had a tearful night, thinking that I might never run again and how could it have happened. No-one knew, but my speculation was that I had had a stress fracture which had held together most of the way, but then gave way somewhat catastrophically.

At midnight on Sunday they took me to the operating theatre. I was sure that I had asked for the general, but they asked me to lean forward on the operating table so they could give me the local anaesthetic injection in the spine. This would ‘put my legs to sleep’.

Part two continues tomorrow...