I broke my collarbone a few weeks ago, clean in two. One end was visibly trying to poke through the skin, though thankfully it didn’t succeed, and the other less attention-seeking half was buried in my shoulder.
This was unpleasant.
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Eight days following this a trained professional got in there and put it back together. Which, though far more helpful than the original alteration, was also unpleasant. I write this a day out of surgery and very drowsy.
I was of course given all the warnings about not driving or operating heavy machinery, but none of the pain medication packets say I’m not to write in national cycling publications so, whether it’s safe or not, we are proceeding.
I also write this from a cabin in the Scottish Highlands. It’s quite glorious. I’d booked the grassy roofed accommodation a while ago to coincide with racing a time trial in Ballachulish (the fourth round of the Knights Composites Classic Series) and make a trip of it. The collarbone lark has scunnered plans slightly but life could be a lot worse.
Instead of racing, I’ve had a full day of spectating and napping. Spectating both my boyfriend and dad in the TT, and a national downhill mountain bike race going on at Fort William. Funnily enough, the downhill crowd was filled with people in arm slings just like me…
I’m staying here for a few days. We’d originally booked it to go mountain biking ourselves but now it’s an official surgery recuperation cabin. Which all sounds wonderful but I’m still finding time to feel sorry for myself. Hopefully tomorrow I’ll be ready to feel sorry for myself on the turbo instead of the sofa.
I’ve broken my (other) collarbone in the past and been back on the track in two weeks. Since this one is now part titanium I’m hopeful for an equally quick recovery.
It’s summertime and I’ve got a road season to catch up on! But for this evening, all I have to worry about is the sun on my back and waiting for my alarm to go off and tell me I can take more paracetamol (et al).