Surgery 22! East Grinstead: You rock!

You’d think after winning an award, yes, an Amazing one, literally, I’d follow up with a dazzling Christmas, tree glittering on December 1st, maybe even up early for my birthday, festive chaos, the whole seasonal caboodle. But no. Last year? It was silent... and not in the Holy Night way.

Between the buzz of life and the minor detail of preparing for surgery number 22 (yes, you read that right TWENTY. TWO.), I went for a quieter Christmas. Think more “Zen recluse” than “Buddy the Elf.” Honestly? It wasn’t the worst thing. Peace has its perks.

⚔️ Nerves of... Fire?

By February, it was back to my second home: East Grinstead Hospital. A truly top-tier place where the staff know me better than most of my extended family at this point. This particular op was a big one, our last hope at tackling a long-standing foe: the angry cocktail of CRPS (Complex Regional Pain Syndrome) and a nerve issue that’s like being continuously stabbed with a flaming dagger.

CRPS is basically what happens when your nervous system decides it’s had enough of your nonsense. Burning pain (8/10 on a good day), random flares to 10+, and an attitude problem to match. As if that wasn’t fun enough, neuromas! Which are rogue nerve endings that act like confused light bulbs, were also showing up to the pain party.

The surgical solution? Cut the sciatic nerve, remove six misbehaving little nerves, and wrap everything up in muscle like a very disturbing Christmas present. 🎁

Anesthesia & Allergies

All was going well until the local anaesthetic did its thing... a bit too well. Cue local anaesthetic toxicity, a phrase you don’t want in your medical bingo card. Thankfully, the team caught it early. Unfortunately, they had to half the pain-blocking meds. Predictably, the pain dial turned up to “scream,” but hey, im still alive so that’s a win.

🧠 PTSD & Wards

Hospitals and I have history. And not the cuddly kind. Due to a long-past but never-forgotten trauma, being in a ward setting is... let’s just say not ideal. I usually get my own room for PTSD-related reasons, and that helps keep the freak-outs to a minimum. East Grinstead has always been stellar about that, big love to the staff.

🚶‍♀️The 20% Dream

Recovery is slow, like molasses wearing ankle weights. But a few months ago, something magical happened: I was able to wear my prosthetic leg. For 20 minutes. With crutches. And cry a bit while doing it. But still...progress!

That tiny glimmer of progress lit a fire under me. I started planning: a surprise for my wife at our end-of-season dinner, me walking in. Hollywood-worthy stuff, right?

She’s never once said she minds the chair. Says she doesn’t see it. But let’s be honest, it changes things. Not everything, but some dreams get put on pause. That 20% walking time? That would mean a lot, not just to me, but to us.

🌊 Flare-ups & Exmouth

Alas, nerves are like moody teenagers. Just when you think you're making progress, they throw a tantrum. Flare-ups returned, the leg time vanished, and now I’m back in the "trying to stay wheeling while crying in sunglasses" phase. Embarrassing? Sure. But honestly, people in Exmouth are the loveliest, always quick with a smile or a “Good morning,” even when I look like I’m training for a weepy slow-motion montage.

🧘‍♀️ Waiting, Wheeling & Hoping

So here we are: in the healing phase, that awkward middle chapter where you’re not quite sure if the plot twist is around the corner or if the story’s just dragging its feet. Training helps, even through pain. It’s not about escaping the hurt, but taming it just enough to keep going.

There’s still hope. For walking, for dancing (badly), and for finally surprising my wife with that entrance.

Until , I wheel, I train, I cry behind oversized sunglasses... and I carry on one stubborn day at a time.