19th Oct 2009

There can’t be much worse than a chef in hospital; all their typical traits are abolished: no creativity, no energy, no enthusiasm and no good food! Guess what, I’m in hospital!

I’d been suffering from a swollen ankle on my left foot since Wednesday evening. I couldn’t think of an exact explanation for my injury except that I had foolishly slipped off the bottom step of a bunk bed ladder the previous Sunday evening. I started work this week and didn’t want my pain to get in the way of my work, so I struggled through each day, hobbling at times. By the end of each evening I could barely walk. Both Thursday and Friday night I got some ice for my ankle and propped it up on a pillow while I slept. By Saturday morning I was in agony. I went to the local chemist who checked it out for me but insisted I should go to Cape Town Medi-Clinic to get it properly seen to. It’s now Monday and I’m still here!

The last 3 days have been a whirlwind of stress and confusion. All I expected from my trip to the Medi-Clinic was to be strapped and bandaged up and told to rest for a few days. But no – the first thing I know is that I am allowing them to stick huge needles into my ankle to extract some fluids. I am not exaggerating when I say it was the most excruitiating pain of my life. Those that know me well will understand that I have a massive phobia of needles. However it wasn’t the fact that I was dealing with needles that made me scream the roof off, it was literally sheer pain. The only way I can try and describe it is if you imagine you are watching some sci-fi/horror movie where a normal person is mutated into a werewolf or alien or something, and pulls a tight, painful face while raising their claws/hands in agony – that was me. I had to bite my arm and pull my hair to try and counterbalance the pain that was going on in my foot – get the picture?!

The doctor and nurses were very concerned at how enormous and red my ankle was. There were a number of possibilities of diagnosis but more tests would be needed. Next, I am sent for x-rays to establish if there were any fractures – none were found. Meanwhile, I am told I am to have a blood test – more needles – I burst into tears. Looking back I cannot believe what I went through on Saturday afternoon. I just about managed the blood test with the help of Lesley and Michelle squeezing my hand and lots of wailing coming from my mouth.

Come 8pm that night, no prognosis had been made, but I was moved to a ward to spend the night. The doctor came and saw me and discussed options but I was struggling to take things in due to lots of stress and upset and, already, a decent amount of drugs: painkillers, antibiotics, antihistamines, e.t.c. I agreed to go along with the best option – to operate on my ankle. It was only a small procedure that took place on Sunday morning. A small camera was inserted into my ankle to have a look and my whole ankle was washed out. All the fluids from my ankle were sent off to be assessed but nothing in particular has shown up, except a raised infected mark in my blood stream. The infection could be in the ankle joint itself or just in the skin. I swear hospitals want to scare you as much as possible; at one point they were talking about “septic arthritis” in my ankle – not too sure what that means, but definitely sounds bad.

Apparently now everything is on the mend and I should be back to normal by the end of the week. I have been completely bed bound with my left leg and foot all bandaged up with a splint. The friends I made at the hostel have been absolute stars and I cannot thank them enough. They arranged a bag of things I needed whilst in hospital and have visited me everyday. I hate having to rely on people and hate intruding on other peoples lifestyles – but I honestly cannot stop thanking them. Lesley, Michelle and Vincent – thank you, thank you, thank you! It was so nice to see Vincent’s friendly face as soon as I got out of theatre and had lots of fun playing Minesweeper and Pinball with him, as well as darting round the hospital in a wheelchair. It was quite spectacular to sit in my wheelchair, with a drip hanging above me, on the rooftop terrace looking out to Table Mountain, Signal Hill and the roads of Cape Town City Bowl below us.

As far as I am aware, I am going home tomorrow and have asked for the week off work to recover. I am gutted not to be working again, especially as I have only just started. I will write more about the job next time; all you need to know is that it is fantastic! A quick note to say that hospital food here is actually pretty good for “hospital food” – this morning I had a smoked salmon and cream cheese croissant! I admit that every meal has been delicious! You wouldn’t be saying that in England, would you!?

It’s been pretty annoying with this injury happening – it seems my spell of bad luck still hasn’t ended! But once again I am remaining head strong and positive – believing that everything happens for a reason. Thank god for travel insurance is all else I can say – this would have cost an absolute fortune without it and I would have found myself coming home to England a hell of a lot sooner!

Please pray I have a speedy recovery and some better luck!
Lots of love, Ashleigh xx