Human Frailties

I'm with my sister who's in plaster from toe to hip - a hinge allows some knee bending - and getting around with a zimmer and a wheeled office chair. Progress is slow as can be imagined, though it'll get faster with practice. She has been feeling nauseous all day, but given that she's eaten next to nothing since Tuesday and has been pumped full of drugs that's hardly surprising. I've just witnessed her injecting into her stomach before she went to sleep, a prophylactic against DVT apparently. A tight white sock on her good leg is an added precaution. They think of everything these days. She can't put weight on the broken leg for six weeks, and will be in plaster for at least twelve. No driving, no shopping, no outings that haven't been pre-planned by someone else.

All of this is quite disturbing, and leaves you feeling distinctly uneasy. Breaking a leg very badly is not fun at any age, but when you live alone it takes on added complications. Luckily she has good neighbours after over 30 years in the same house, and willing friends nearby to call on, though she's seriously independent and almost pathologically resistant to asking for help. All emergency services are close at hand. My situation is very different. I've lived in my remote rural village for a mere seven months, and the nearest hospital is over 20 miles away. Ambulances respond to emergency calls in the countryside, of course they do, but getting to hospital speedily with a life-threatening or merely painful problem is never going to happen. And as for the day-to-day tribulations of living by yourself with a major handicap, who knows? Better not to project into an imaginary future, but rather be careful and live optimistically.

But when things do go wrong, the comfort of a loving, familiar presence is of incalculable value. The kindness of strangers is humbling to witness and heartwarming to receive. In times of crisis it can make the impossible possible. But there's nothing like someone you can call your own, in one way or another, someone who has seen you at your best and worst, being there for you when you're at your most vulnerable. We do this for each other when it's necessary. It's called family, and it can be worth its weight in bullion.