How to Turn Disablement to Your Advantage and the Mysteries of Casts

I think I’m getting the hang of this disablement thing now. It is simply a question of role reversal. The trick is to use everyday ordinary phrases that usually come out of others’ mouths and make them come out of mine. And substitute the word ‘Mum’ for ‘daughter’ or ‘daughter’s boyfriend’. Here are a few successful examples that occurred today:

Daughter, can I have a bagel please, and some orange juice and can you bring it to my room?

Daughter, we have run out of milk, can you go to the coop, and whilst you’re there get some bread and croissants and smoothies and biscuits and cake and a weeks shopping and a small kitchen sink?

Daughter’s boyfriend, my computer is broken can you come and fix it and install some programs and bring me a cup of coffee, and wash the car too?

Daughter, where are my favourite jeans and my blue t-shirt? If they are in the wash can you get them clean by an hour ago?

See, easy. Just a matter of mindset. Why didn’t I think of breaking my foot years ago? The house is running like a well oiled machine, without the mess of the oil or the noise of a machine. And I am sitting in bed. Doing fuck all. It is my intention never to have this cast removed. Ever.

The cast is still a bit of a mystery to me though. On one level it is familiar as an old, hot, heavy and stupidly large sock. On another level I can’t help but think - why? Is this not severe overkill? I have broken a bone in my foot. I saw the x-ray: 4th metatarsal. I have a cast that covers most of the western hemisphere. And weighs as much as the eastern hemisphere. And is as hot as the upper hemisphere. And as itchy as the lower hemisphere. By my calculations now this cast covers two earths.

And here’s another mysterious thing. (look away now if you are a bit squeamish). The two ends of the bones had managed to separate themselves rather in the fashion of Tower Bridge. Without the towers and the tourists. Well there might have been tourists but they are invisible to NHS x-ray. Probably Japanese and therefore quite nano and compact. So how is it supposed to work that by encasing most of my body in plaster of Paris these bones magically realign themselves? Out of protest? Because they have read the reports of famous footballers’ injuries and are followers of celeb fashion? Because they empathise with the plight of Japanese tourists unable to cross bridges?

Meanwhile, due to the highly technologically advanced nature of this thing adhering to my leg I am leaving white smudges all around the house. I’m like snotty-cat on a very bad shedding day. Visitors proffering chocolates have been able to discover my location by following the trail of plaster debris. Scientists looking for the answer to the missing matter in the universe have been crowding the house taking samples. NHS managers have been out in force with dustpans and brushes collecting the stuff in order to recycle it for the next unfortunate sauna accidentee.

And I have a confession, but please don’t tell anyone at the hospital, or my family, or anyone really – I’ve broken the world’s largest cast already. The bit that is under my foot, probably the crucial bit that is actually attempting to do something for the divorced metatarsal. Oops.