Sticks and stones may break my bones

During the early part of 1971 my lower spine was compressed when I jumped from a helicopter from about 15’. Many moons later I was unable to walk properly or lift the smallest item, I would collapse if the vertebrae pinched the discs. When the main man at the orthopaedic clinic told me I looked like an old man, aged 43, I hit his desk with my walking stick, that was Thursday. He left the office, I was in tears of frustration and agony. The next Tuesday I was wheeled in and work began that evening. The main image shows three of the six bolts and frames he inserted, along with grated bone from a hip joint. Aberdeen had a bone bank, so I’ve a piece of an old lady in me. This was sprayed with steroids and has now grown to a massive bone graft, put your fists one on top of the other and you get the idea.
This is what went on in the hospital. 
Day 2 after the op, semiconscious I hugged my morphine pump, it was my lifeline. In the middle of the night a middle eastern voice told the nurse to remove my pump and he would install suppository pain killers. The nurse and I fought. Then I muttered, “Ulcer, no NSAIDS.” “Clever boy, well done!” Non-steroidal painkillers hurt like hell when your gut is ragged. 
In the ward, only six beds, what a giggle. I was the focus of lots of really good care and TLC. 
Day 3 the pump was ripped from my grasp and a kindly nurse asked what I wanted in terms of pain relief, anything I cared for. A quick shimmy left and right, no pain, “Nothing.” We were both surprised. The agony of years had gone, completely. 
Day whatever the nurses pulled the screens around me, never a good sign, but I was overdue a bed-bath. Nekked as a Jay Bird I lay there with a self satisfied smile on my face as I was soaped down. Then a wasp flew in. The nurses dived for cover, I covered what I needed and cursed them! 
Day 7 a big ‘Murrikan physio and his lady boss appeared with my fibreglass body cast, it went from my right knee to my chesticles. This was removable for 1 hour per day for the necessary bits and showering. In my shorts and T shirt they manoeuvred me to the edge of the bed then very gently helped me upright. I could stand, they grabbed my elbows and asked me to walk, Diddy steps and I was grinning, no pain, I could walk! 
The ‘Murrikan asked what I used to do, this frail fibreglass clad dullard muttered through gritted teeth, “I was a Marine.” 
Day 8, the first bowel movement. When I staggered back from the bathroom the other detainees applauded me. Then I had a shower with a nurse…….well she stood and watched, nearly as much fun. They had to ensure the shock of hot water on my nerves did not make me collapse.
Day 10, manoeuvred into the front of the Volvo and home, lying flat in my cast and never happier. The wheelchair I had used to get around the house went into the garage, I had to stand to eat for six months. Learning to walk was a huge moment, but gradually I got to wander further and further. The doc gave me ten years, that was 36 years ago.  

An elderly farmer had an operation and was admitted to our ward. He was losing his battle. Overnight they pumped bag after bag of blood into him. The next morning a young nurse wandered in, he took one look, paused then said in the broadest Doric dialect. “Mercy me, they must have given me Ram’s blood!” 

Extra. They did my knees fifteen years ago. I must have given my bones hell as a young lad.