The Year After The Night Before

365 days ago on a dark and stormy night in a foreign land, I found myself forlorn and alone, stranded and wounded. Fearing for my life after a horrific accident that would change the rest of my life, seeing months squandered in a painstaking recovery both physically and psychologically...
 

Who am I kidding?!

It was a mild night in at the beginning of the summer, just as the temperature is maturing from spring and I had met up with accompanied a good friend from my Koh Rong days, Dennis, to one of his friends birthday parties.on the promise to myself of not showing him up, I vowed not to drink too much. But then my hand outstretched at the bar and a beer-too-many accidentally fell into my mouth, which later resulted in a slip of footing and a battle with the cobbled streets of Graz, Austria. Curb 1-0 Becca. After much conversation to and fro , everyone decided it'd be best for me to end my evening there and get an ambulance to hospital (much against my wishes... For both ending my night and going to hospital). Once safely strapped in, and with the blue lights flashing, Dennis and I proceeded to take some selfies in the ambulance, joke around with the doctors, then he joyrode a wheelchair whilst I got my diagnosis....a fracture tibia. 

"At least I haven't broken my leg!" I thought. Swiftly being corrected and learning that a fracture is a break. A fracture tibia means I broke my leg. The fun and games ended a few days later when I realized the difficulty showering, making myself a cuppa, the sheer drop that comes with missing a step on the stairs...and that I'd have to move back in with my Mum and Dad for the first time in years...but hey- if it's not a good time it's a good story. Right? And it certainly wasn't a night to forget...if only I could remember most of it.

 

   Needless to say it was a defining moment of my year at least on those (wonky) streets in Austria.

 

The next few months saw me return to La Case de Old Lady y Baldy, after an entertaining conversation with my Mum on the phone which said in a more explicit tone "You're ever so silly, Rebecca. I wonder what thought would've skipped through your mind for you to wonder so carefree around those streets. Your vision must've been clouded through the slight inebriation of one tickle of larger too many" which I did receive a heads up text from my Dad about saying;

"told her not to be to tough wiv u x"

I'm glad I got the heads up, I would've been more glad if my mother had listened that advice. 

 

My active lifestyle of snowboarding, via ferrata, hiking (does dancing on tables count as a sport?) was very quickly reduced to a daily climb up the stairs, a hobble to the toilet, and a hop to the kitchen once an hour. Entertainment I normally source from a social with friends, an excursion to grab a coffee, or a stroll around the outdoors was rapidly reduced to whatever I could find on Netflix, solitaire on my laptop, or the ever-dreadful-but-addictive SCROLL. Eventually I strained my eyes from watching screens all day (and I even convinced myself I had an eyefloater taking over the entirety of my left side vision and a brain tumor...thanks for that one google). It was just a temporary lifestyle change for me, luckily. But it doesn't change how dramatic that shift was.

 

Eight weeks after that initial hangover, my cast was off and leg was free to face the world again. Now resembling a flakey, undercooked, and rolled-on-the-floor-and-covered-in-hair crossiant. 

 

Oh, btw, I went to Budapest, and Vienna (and other photos)

Greetings from Graz

Broken Bone Becca here with the latest update from across Europe.

After 7 Days of inhaling the smell of old lady shit and methane, laying in bed and trying to avoid eyecontact out of fear of being coaxed into conversation.

I'M FINALLY FREEEEEE

enjoying another great
night of sleep in E237

I had my operation, and obviously it all went to plan. I roll into theartre and Dr Jana says I'm on local aesthetic. This means some injections in my spin. Now- I don't make this public knowledge but I HATE INJECTIONS, so the thought of having some in my SPINE wasn't too appealing but hey- do what you gotta do. So I think they've done them, and I'm like PHEW WASNT SO BAD! GLAD THATS OVER! Nope. It was just the pen showing where they needed to do them. D'oh. 

Dr Jana then asks if I want any music whilst I'm having my operation, and what I want. I said hey- play anything. I just don't like country music. So what does she put on? Dixie Chicks. What a joker! But I ever had my very own pee bag, more people peeking at my privates than I'm used to. People putting suctions on my chest then causally forgetting to cover up the puppies after. Hello fixed leg, the only price? Dignity. 

But the leg hasn't been too painful for the most part. Not as painful as having a rag-and-bowl wash, getting round to giving the grand canyon a wipe and the attractive, young, tattoo's nurse walks in and you make eyecontact mid-butt wipe. Dignity. 

So since Wednesday I've been back to Fort Dennis. I don't have to ask when I want to pee, I can est nice food again! I don't have to suffer through German Big Bang Theory, we can watch Eurovision at our own free will. We've been to the cinema (WITH A HUGE POPCORN) to see Detective Pikachu, soaked up a rare bit of sun, eaten lunch with some Camels. Freedom never tasted so good. 

my chauffeur 

Counting Down The Minutes Until The Next Meal and other memoirs from hospital

So the latest update- guess what! I broke my leg...or should I say Austrian Beer and Dodgy Curbs did. As I type this I've been in hospital for 82 Hours 37 Minutes and I'm gonna say 28 seconds. But hey- who's counting HA HA HA. Welcome to the most exciting week of my life.

After snowboarding everyday for 2 months I ended up fracturing my tibia...by...

                                                                falling

                                                            down

                                                                        a

                                                                             curb.

Yep. The concrete is my enemy. Not the crocodiles I used to wrestle, or the trees I used to climb for a living, or the table dancing I normally do after a beer or two, or the COUNTLESS OTHER RIDCULOUS, DANEROUS AND DOWNRIGHT STUPID THINGS I DO . BUT- A PIECE OF THE PATH THAT EVEN BLOODY CHILDREN CONCURE EVERYDAY.

nutritious hospital diet

So, consequently, I've landed myself a week long stay in the lovely Graz Hospital (check in was easy- though picky booking requirements, staff were friendly, toilets were basic, food was satisfactory, would recommend) where I have three meals a day, a roof over my head and an accompaniment of the smell of farts with every meal. Be careful what you wish for because this time last month I had just become homeless and this time about two weeks ago I slept in a Wild Bean Cafe at a service station...

So hospital isn't too bad. I've never even stepped foot in one since I was carried out of one in February of 1995. I'm getting waited on, the nurses keep offering me drugs and stroking my foot as they walk past- for some people that's a fantasy they'd pay for! Maybe not the daily belly injection though...but the nurses are lovely. I'm in a 6 bed room, and it's no Hilton- but it's not too bad. My roomates are... well. How can I put this?

Old.

                Really.

                                Really.

Old.

Combined between the four of us, our age, by a guess, far exceeds 400 (bearing in mind, I'm 24). I wonder if Brothers Grimm stayed here for their inspiration for the gingerbreadhouse hag in Hansel and Gretal...or Bill Shakespeare for Macbeth... Roahl Dohl must've stayed here for inspiration for his book Charlie And The Chocolate Factory. No wait- I mean The Witches. One of the dears has made me her new target to talk to- I mean- at. After politely telling her I can't speak German- she still mumbles away at me/ the room. It's even better when she has her false teeth in- throw a lisp into it and it's so much more... theraputic. At least she's quiet at night and doesn't snore....ha. ha. ha. .

I can even feel myself getting so old, the krankenhaus is draining the life out of me, or the old biddies are sucking youth from me like a Dementor sucks souls. I'm almost half expecting a vampire-eske(but more toothless) encounter at midnight and likewise wake up looking like the worst side of a raisin.

greetings from graz

I'm already noticing when the cleaning man has a busy day because he's 15 minutes late, and that whenever they serve midday tablet- lunch will come 30 minutes later. I look forwards to my 7.30 breakfast of bread and jam and my 9.07 shower, 10.15 drip followed by a 11am visit by the paper man. Next thing I'll be upset when the free weekly newspaper is late, or when they neighbours have bad parking, or when someone is cutting hedgerows that don't belong to them... OR WHEN THE BITCH IN THE BED NEXT TO YOU GETS A BANANA WITH LUNCH AND I GOT STUCK WITH A FLACID PEACH.

But hey- it's not as if I'm the only one in my room who isn't using a bedpan- right? Cause hearing old ladies shit themselves every hour really adds the cherry on top of this otherwise oh-so-memorable experience.

a couple of tummy bruises
from my favourite part of the day

I got here on Wednesday (now it is Saturday). I came in expecting to hear if I needed an operation on my leg and if so, when it's scheduled for...I did not expect to be laying on a bed being pushed around the hospital within an hour of arriving with an operation expected within the next 24h.

"GREAT- OVER AND DONE WITH" - My thoughts

Well, not quite. Basically my foot was so swollen that my operation got delayed until the Friday.

"No worries, I'll be out before the end of the weekend!"

Nope, wrong again. Turn out that my foot is pretty swollen meaning that they can't operate. So as they bring me my breakfast on Friday morning I question it- because I'm not allowed to eat or drink before the op...

"No, eating is no problem. You operation is on the 13th"

That was on the 10th. THE TENTH... welllllllllllllllllll this weekend is gonna be a big one! Saturday Night- bed by 9.30pm, don't need alcohol to have a good time just pass me that drip and sound of German snoring to fulfil my social needs!

Thank god for Dennis bringing me a simcard, a book, my laptop and most importantly some snacks. So until Monday (and beyond) I am surrounded by these same seafoam green walls, gentle waft of methane, needles in my stomach and the lovely ladies of room E-237. Now- if you'll excuse me- I have a high score on Solitare to beat.

Belly Injections to date: 6

Drips I've been on: 8

Bedtime: 9-10pm

Times the lady next to me shits everyday: about 10

Photo update!

Me and Beth pretending to be VIP's