I wake up back in my room which I am starting to recognise and apart from the very obvious fact that I am indeed in hospital is quite nice. I'm by myself and there is a bathroom, a telly and huge windows to gaze wistfully out of.
I can't feel my leg again, another nerve block I'm guessing but that's nice compared to the searing pain and burning feeling I usually associate with neuropathic pain caused by MS.
I have a couple of rods sticking out and in each rod there are four pins which must be going into my flesh, or through it, and into bones.
Oh wow! I've always wondered what they felt like! I muse to myself, I'm still high as a kite but there aren't flies buzzing around me anymore and I think this means they have stopped the ketamine infusion.
A nurse comes in and explains that I need to keep my leg up and elevated on the bolster pictured for 23 hours of each day for the next two weeks.
How will I take a crap? I wonder.
As if reading my mind she tells me there is a bed pan for toilets and when I feel up to it I can have an assisted shower or a bed bath.
I haven't showered in days. It's been ward, theater, ward, back in bed since I got here.
I'm just now starting to think about the gravity of the situation I've put myself in. It isn't a good thing.
Not that long ago, maybe a few months back I ordered a brand new Indian FTR1200 Carbon and it's sitting in my shed with 743kms on it. I've barely had the chance to ride it and do the first service. That's gonna be a few months off now I think, and then reality kicks in.
I've severed my foot right off my fucking leg! Will I ever be able to ride again? What if I can't change gears anymore? What if...
Best not to think about it. Gotta rest. This frame is going to be on for a minimum of three months the surgeon said. I wonder how long it will take to grow back together?
What if it doesn't?
What if... no. Don't go there. The flies might come back.
I sink back down into my bed and put my headphones on and let Olafur Arnalds sooth my worries with some awesome ethereal music from his album 'Late Night Tales'.
I love his music and I let it transport me into a different universe and try not to think about how much of an idiot I was not to take the boots from Mallory and how different the outcome may have been had I done so.
I drift off into a drug induced restless sleep and absently wonder if there are any cheeseburgers left in the nurses fridge for me....
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