Hurghada - Cast Off!

Egyptian Pillars With Sunken City in Distance, Sahl Hasheesh

And so the day finally came where I could potentially have my cast removed from my foot. I couldn’t really quite imagine what it would be like to wake up the next morning without it; I had no idea how mobile I would be.

As it was, the whole day was going to be a bit manic. I had workmen due to come at 11am to fit mosquito netting doors to my balcony so that I could keep my doors open at night without getting bitten, and fans were to be installed in my lounge, bedroom, and balcony. I was feeling a bit stressed about that as well, since I hadn’t seen the fans and I felt I was buying them in blind faith.

The workmen came, but as it came to 13:30, I got increasingly worried about getting to my taxi on time for 2pm and was not sure what I would do about the workmen while I was not there. The foreman said he would oversee them and make sure everything was safe. Since he was due to do a lot of work in our block, I decided it was to his advantage to ensure nothing was stolen, so I metaphorically closed my eyes and hoped for the best.

My other dilemma was over what footwear to bring with me to the hospital. I decided a flip-flop wasn’t sturdy enough; I couldn’t wear heels as that would be too much pressure for my foot; I had some new flat shoes, but I thought they could be a bit tight, especially if my foot was swollen. In the end, I plumped for a trainer and socks, since the trainer was supportive and if I couldn’t put it on, I would at least have a sock to wear.

My taxi driver came – in his new car! – promptly at 2pm and I arrived on time at the hospital. This was the first time I’d been to the hospital on a proper working day (rather than on a Friday) and it was noticeably busier. The guy on the desk was friendlier and considerately brought all the forms over to me that I had to fill in and he arranged for someone to take me to the doctor in a wheelchair.

I worried as I sat waiting for my doctor, as there seemed to be another doctor there who didn’t speak much English. I wanted to have the same consultant as I’d had before – he was young, pleasant, witty, and could speak good English. And, of course, he knew exactly what I’d been through. Eventually, my consultant came in with the other doctor and I felt a wave of relief.

He asked me to get up on the bed, although both he and the nurse seemed very alarmed when I stood up and they warned me to be careful, but actually I’ve got to be a dab hand at standing up using my right foot only and couldn’t see what they were fussing about.

The doctor informed me he would take off the plaster – they all call it Gips here, as in German, and I’m not sure why. Perhaps they’ve just found that everyone understands that, maybe it is called Gips in Russian and/or Arabic (I find that hard to believe)? Anyway, everyone calls it Gips and I understand what they mean, so it doesn’t really matter.

What alarmed me was that he said he would take off the plaster and then get me another foot. My first thought was that he meant that he would take off the plaster and then replace it with a foot-only plaster or sturdy shoe. I had been hoping today would be the end of it! After a while more of thinking, though, I realised that he may have meant another x-ray of my foot.

Meanwhile, he took out a circular saw and started sawing through my plaster. I was extremely thankful that I’d read about this on the internet, where people said not to be alarmed because it is a special saw that can’t actually cut you, or I would have been completely petrified. Looking at the saw, it didn’t look any different from a real saw, it had a convincingly sturdy and sharp appearance, and even though I knew it couldn’t hurt me, a part of me wasn’t wholly convinced. However, it was true, even when it touched my skin, it just felt warm and that was about it, really.

I was fascinated to be reunited with the bottom half of my leg and my foot. To my surprise, my leg looked pretty OK. It wasn’t even particularly hairy, maybe just at the top, and it didn’t look wasted either. In fact, strangely, the left-half of my leg was devoid of hair. My foot was swollen, but not as badly as the last time, and my toes looked a bit wasted where they joined the foot. I couldn’t smell anything, so that was also a relief. Overall, I was pretty pleased. It looked like a foot with toes on.

We then went to X-Ray, which confirmed my later thought of what “getting another foot” meant, and I started to feel a bit more positive. Again, everyone seemed very worried as soon as I tried to get from the bed back to the wheelchair, even though I was feeling confident in my manoeuvres. The nurse kept on telling me I was a “very brave woman”. This is what they kept on telling me each time on my first visit whenever they were about to do something very painful to me or if they were unable to help my pain. I began to hate that phrase and really I had no desire to be brave. This time, though, there wasn’t anything to be brave about. I’m not mocking the nurse, though; she was extremely pleasant and made a huge effort to talk to me and keep me happy. Top marks to her!

When I was in X-Ray, I had a quiet moment to myself where I had the opportunity to examine my foot more carefully. Shocked, I found that the actual wound was still very visible as a gash; I guess when a wound is not exposed to air, it doesn’t recover as quickly. I also hadn’t realised it was quite so large. The last time I saw it, it just looked like a little slit.

Then I was whisked off in the wheelchair (“you’re a brave woman”) to another room, where the consultant explained that my foot had healed very strongly. I can’t explain how relieved I was. He said my major problem was my swelling. My heart sank as I dreaded him telling me that I needed a few more injections. However, instead, he said that I had to put a cream on my foot three times a day, bathe it in warm water three times a day, take tablets three times a day, and then take painkillers if and when I needed them. He advised me not to be worried if the foot hurt every now and then as this was normal. I asked if I could walk and he said it was absolutely not a problem; it was just my ligaments that needed to be brought back up to par.

While waiting for the medications, I put on my sock, which was actually quite difficult and a little bit painful to do, so I gave up on the idea of putting on my trainer. My sock would have to do.

I had been delighted to hear I could walk, but was also a bit confused when they still wanted to take me to reception in the wheel chair and didn’t want me to walk on my crutches out of the building. Was I OK or was I not OK? I was also surprised that they didn’t insist that I pay this time. My insurance had actually requested that I pay up front because it was easier for them, but I was wheeled outside before I knew what was happening and by then I just couldn’t be bothered. I felt I had already paid enough up front and had gone through enough trauma.

On the way back, I needed to stop to get money out. My taxi driver encouraged me to try putting my foot on the ground, which I did. To my surprise, I felt no pain at all. Nevertheless, I didn’t want to experiment with my foot in a public place, so I still took it carefully and didn’t put any weight on my foot. I got back in the taxi and I arrived back to the apartment with the two security guards cheering as I came in!

The workmen were still in my flat, which was a bit frustrating as I wanted to bathe my foot and start experimenting with it a bit. However, it was good to see the progress and the fans looked better once they were up than when they were in the boxes. Everything was slowly coming together.

As I walked round to inspect everything, I started to experiment a bit, placing increasing pressure on my foot. After about fifteen minutes, I finally plucked up the courage to try walking without the crutches, and actually this was OK! It didn’t hurt, at least not where I had been wounded, although I couldn’t walk fluently and I was scared of overdoing it. Still, I could get about, and without pain, which was more than I could have hoped for. I didn’t dare keep it up for too long, though.

Finally, the workmen left, and I could experiment a bit more on my own. I wandered round the flat trying to assess how my foot felt and whether I was hobbling because I needed to or whether it was just habit. I tried to move my foot naturally rather than automatically trying to keep it in the position it had been in whilst it was in the cast. Obviously, my foot doesn’t have as much movement and flexibility as it had before, not yet at any rate, but it was still doing well, I reckoned.

I got a bowl of water to bathe my foot and, of course, now I had two hands free to carry it, so that was already progress. Maybe I will have another Sitz bath yet (not that I need it)! A lot of gunk came off my foot as I bathed it – I guess mostly from the bandage, but also dead skin. Although the doctor had made quite a fuss about it being swollen, I really didn’t think it was too bad. My taxi driver had suggested that I do some exercises with the foot when it was in the water and that this may be better than walking in the first instance, so I also tried that.

I am still sitting with my foot up, as recommended by the doctor, and in any case I often sit like that anyway. At the moment, it’s my heel that hurts most, which is surprising, because I’ve relied on my heel a lot over the last five weeks, but maybe it’s overworked and is bruised and I just hadn't noticed with all my other challenges.

I now have five days for my foot to get as well as possible before I fly to the UK!