– 3:18 pm

It’s been a beautiful Saturday, sunny. Liza and her mum are out basking in it. I’m at home, on the lower ground. My broken leg is raised on a cushioned wooden-legged stool. The pain is about five on ten and rising. I feel a tingling sensation shooting up and down between my knee and ankle, where the bone broke the skin. I have The Northman projected but the light leaking in is making it hard to see, even with blackout curtains up. To be fair, I only have curtains across one set of double-glazed doors. There’s quite a bit of light bleeding in from the other patio door. It also doesn’t help it’s such a dark movie. So far anyway. I am paused at [46:36]. You’re probably thinking “broken leg? WTF is he on about?”

We played our last league game last Sunday, on a well-kempt astroturf at Gordon’s school. We were 5–3 down and a complete shambles on the day. But in hindsight, we’d just played the most demanding game of the season on Friday, the cup final. So the fatigue, injuries and missing players were on display for all to see. I’d scored a goal to remember to get the game level at three apiece. A clean strike hit so true. And it flew into the top right-hand corner. “Top bins” that’s called. The goalie didn’t move, rooted. He jittered slightly to his right but could do nothing about it. Not long after, we conceded two cheap goals.

In the 86th or so minute, Charlie played a through ball which I ran onto. I remember seeing the onrushing keeper and feeling a firm challenge. As I was landing, I caught a glimpse of a dark red mist on the lower part of my yellow socks. I knew I was in trouble. I was in fucking trouble.

Before long, I was crying on Benny’s lap, “I cannot break my leg”, repeatedly, punching the turf every time. Craig (the Eggman) was over my shoulder. I think he put a coat or something over me. He wouldn’t let me move or look at my leg. Blair was next to him shading the desert-like sun away. I heard calls for water after I batted off some purple drink. “Trust me, you need to drink this Kil. It’ll keep you hydrated”. I think that was Ben again. So I drank a bit of both.

I asked for someone to call your mother. Crying my words out, I begged for the caller to be as calming as possible, re-emphasizing she was pregnant and didn’t want her to stress or panic. Ben and Egg assured me everything would be fine. When Charlie got on the phone, I asked to speak to her. I tried to play normal, “I sprained my ankle” and said I was going into hospital as a precautionary measure. I surprised myself with how succinct and believable I (thought I) was. Probably the shock and a strong willingness to not get her worked up in the slightest. I now know she immediately pressed Charlie for the truth, which came out. Bless him. He was holding back tears. I think that’s when they sorted out the logistics of who’d drive the car “spaceship” as it is now known.

Liza and Julia are back. They can see my screen from the open-plan kitchen so I have to be very careful and sneaky from here on out. Your mother just asked what I’m doing. “Roaming the internet”, I said. That seems to be enough as they’ve gone back to unpacking the groceries they brought back. I think they’re making themselves something to eat. It’s 5:05 pm.

It’s Sunday today and I just resumed writing. The ever bouncy, ever buoyant, ever chatty Valentina who helps us clean is here. She swore me to secrecy when she told me Liza didn’t handle the news too well. She was visibly distressed, in tears and had to be calmed and sat down. I was trying to avoid all of that.

As I was pinned down to a stationary position, I recall getting everyone to hush so I could voice something about having Google insurance and how it could help me medically. Charlie later told me how baffled he was that I had the presence of mind to think that logically at such a time. But my thought process was simple. I had broken my leg – fact. With that in mind, I needed to find the best possible solution to my predicament. I’m pretty sure I later asked the paramedics again if private healthcare could alter the type of care I got. To this, they said no. I was their best option, all things considered. That held true, even in hindsight.

After Jimmie’s double-ankle break Friday just gone, I figured the ambulance would take an equal amount of time to get here. And my goodness did that take an age! But I was wrong, thankfully. I later gathered, that one happened to be passing by. I don’t think it took more than twenty minutes for the paramedics to arrive at the scene. And thank fuck for that, bleeding out the way I was. (It was an open fracture).

I remember the sound of scissors, cutting through my gear and welcomed the freeing sensation of socks and pads falling apart. “How bad is it?” I don’t remember the witty remark that followed. It must have been Entonox I was inhaling and exhaling. I stopped for a moment because it made my mouth extremely dry.

In all honesty, I don’t remember the series of questions they asked me. There were so many that day. Ben handed me a handful of tissues. I immediately knew what to do with them. I was drooling like a puppy. The paramedic – I detest myself for forgetting her name given how nice she was to me – said to someone, “he’s never been sick or to the hospital before. So he’s quite upset about this”. Based on that recollection, I must have answered some questions about my medical history. Some of the purple drink must have spilt on my arm. I remember Ben responding with this when asked why my arm was sticky. They needed one to run an IV.

They tried to move the leg, from the break downwards. I screamed. Then in came a question, whether I was happy for them to cut through the boot. I said yes and heard a brief round of jokes and laughter about how many Mizunos I had, Charlie (I think) went “he’s got many, cut away”. Right now, those ripped ignition red Morelia II Japans are in my kit locker outside our flat. The Morelia IIs are my favourite boot, of all time.

I don’t know where from, but Barnie appeared and sandwiched my palm into his, the perfect grip. He kept talking to me. He’s one of the greatest characters and leaders I know. What a legend. I hope you and his son grow up to know each other and become friends. I’ll do my best to make that happen.

At my one o’clock was Sonnie, Barnie’s brother. He winked at me, half-smile, and didn’t say much. But it was enough. I understood him perfectly and winked back.

The ketamine made me drowsy. I thought to myself, best to keep inhaling that Entonox – I definitely didn’t know what it was called at the time – “because if they’re cutting through your boot, they’re going to lift you next, any time now. And you wouldn’t want to feel that pain”. So heavy breaths in, and even heavier breaths out.

I said to Ben, “Benny, look at me Benny. I think I’m passing out. But before I go, make sure yours and Charlie’s are the first faces she sees when she gets here. She needs to be kept as calm as possible.”

I don’t know how I got onto a stretcher. But I felt the lift off the ground. No pain. Free of it. There and then, I thought how awesome it would be to film this sequence, but from my perspective, instead of the onlooker’s. I was thinking about it like it was a movie.

Ollie’s face was the last teammate’s I saw before the ambulance doors closed. He was really struggling emotionally, pushing his tears sideways. He and Jus are people you want to hang around with, normal and full of laughs. They’re great company. I told him not to cry.

Anything could’ve happened on the way to A&E at Frimley Park Hospital. It’s all a blur. I was pretty high though. I know I said thank you a lot and tried my best to retain and address my helpers by their names. So I kept looking for badges or asking for names upfront at first contact.

1–2–3 and I went from stretcher to bed. Just like in House. At least that’s how I remember it. I was still lying on my side.

I have hazy memories of what was discussed and murmured in the background. Time seemed to fly by. Medics came and went. To summarise, I needed surgery which could only be done at St. George’s hospital as Frimley didn’t have “the full expertise in-house to handle my level of trauma”. But I also wasn’t fit for the ambulance ride. They had to prep me for it.

I woke up on my back to that feeling of having a warm towel on your face, except it came from my leg. Yvette still had her eyes down. Her chalk-white fingers were fiddling with my leg. It looked like she was finishing off a clay pot. There was a team around her.

I don’t know when X-Rays were taken, but taken they were, pre and post the temporary cast on my left foot. I could’ve sworn I was never moved during my entire stay. Ketamine is a helluva drug. I’ll leave it at that. I do however recount a member of staff requesting confirmation that the scans had been forwarded to St George’s hospital.

Your mother made an appearance somewhere along this timeline. They wouldn’t let Charlie in. She seemed very calm. What I now know was partly a front. I think Char did an exceptional job turning down the heat though. He’s great at that. I told her I was so sorry.

They advised Liza not to travel with the ambulance, concluding it was pointless getting there that early. It could take hours for St Georges to reassess and drum up a plan of action. Surgery could also be the following morning, instead of that night.

Two fine fellows let me ride in their ambulance. They even let me pick my own music. I opted for Pacho’s playlist.

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– 6:53 pm, Tuesday, May 17

I felt a niggle in my good leg. Until then, my right leg still had socks and shin pads on. The paramedic was kind enough to free me. The niggle went away. We had a great conversation talking about work-life balance. He said he loved his job despite the hours and relatively lower income. We spoke about my work delivering software within financial services. We both agreed on how lucky we were to work in fields we were passionate about.

1–2–3 and I went from another stretcher to another bed, this time at St Georges. I couldn’t control my bladder any longer so I told a passing nurse I needed to take a piss. I’d been contemplating how that would work but gave up on the awkwardness of what was to follow. I just needed to go.

Her reaction was in no way odd. She must have had that request about a million times. It then dawned on me, of course, they’ve thought about this, of course, there’s a process in place for piss takers. She disappeared and came back with a couple of disposable cardboard urine bottles, pulling the blinds on her way out.

“The bones need to be straightened”, a doctor explained. “We have to pop them back in to assess the level of damage before making a call on a surgical procedure”. He also confirmed surgery would be the following morning. I think this decision was taken partly because Liza had fed me a couple bananas. It was the only meal I’d had all day. I was ravenous.

The operation would have to establish whether I needed plastic surgery in the first instance to repair the damaged skin before a second surgery to insert the rod. I think I updated Liza after that.

My diction isn’t expansive enough to describe what I experienced during the surgery. I’m at a loss for words. It felt like being in a box, a capsule of sorts. Better yet a pod, completely enclosed. I couldn’t see myself. It kept descending in big explosive chugs. I thought I was dying. It wasn’t at all painful and I remember thinking, if this is death, then it’s not all bad. I thought to myself, what a shame I can’t go back to tell anyone not to fret about it. Death is quite alright.

The white ceiling slowly got into focus. My leg was extremely sore like someone had been swinging it about like a baseball bat while I was too helpless to do anything about it. And they had.

A deep sadness came over me. I found myself crying profoundly, calling out to your grandmother. “Mafor, Mafor… Mafor, where are you?” In these moments, I mourned her death all over again. Like Manu had just called with the news. Even writing about it makes me despondent.

My outstretched palm was filled by a nurse’s. She had a tattoo just above her wrist, a circle with tall skinny triangles around it. The sun. In my wooziness, I blah blah’d something to it, never looking at her face. But she listened nonetheless. And I could feel her kindness through her silence.

Liza and Charlie met me in the ward. It was late. So I begged them to leave.

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– 9:06 am, Wednesday, May 18

Needless to say, I didn’t sleep much that night. More so because “Two of Amerikas Most Wanted” in our ward took turns screaming out their lungs, sometimes simultaneously.

The following morning, I was wheeled and handed over to some green people. I vaguely remember what we chatted about but we did laugh about something. The gist of it was, I wouldn’t be awake for the surgery. That did worry me tremendously. I was dreading a repeat of what I felt during the “pop them back in” experience.

A nurse walked up to me and asked how I was feeling. “I’ve been waiting for surgery all morning”, I said. I was so convincing she had to go double-check with someone else. I overheard some of the exchange. They both looked in my direction, “bless him, we had to keep him longer here in Recovery. He was in so much pain”. She came back to confirm I’d had the surgery. I said bullshit. I did and do not remember a thing. Thank fuck for that.

But then I started to notice symptoms to suggest the charade could indeed be true. The new dressing was the obvious giveaway. But I also felt the soreness in my throat. I asked what time it was and she said four. “Damnit! I need to call my wife. She’d be worried sick not knowing if this had happened or how it went”.

Again, I don’t know how I got to the ward. Your mother showed up with Charlie. She’d obviously thought of everything. She brought a change of clothes, food… The woman is incredible. None of that even crossed my mind. But then again, I’d never spent the night in a hospital. As predicted, she’d been calling trying to get an update before Charlie eventually got through. A nurse came round to check my vitals, as they do periodically. My oxygen was quite low so I was given a nasal cannula. (I had to google for the technical term). Seeing me with that thing brought your mother to tears.

The following morning, two physios turned up. “We’re students”, they both said, “would you like to go for a walk?” I figured they had to learn somehow so them being students didn’t bother me. Plus, it wasn’t like they were requesting to carry out my surgery unattended. We had a forgetful conversation about what field of study they wanted to specialise in. A few minutes in and another lady joined us. She had the “I know what I’m doing” look with a more settled demeanour. She was no student. In fact, she quizzed them for the remainder of the crutch test.

So it was back to school learning my ABCs, able leg, bad leg, and crutches. Those were the basics of how to walk with crutches. We did some drills going up and down stairs given the duplex we live in at home. They were in awe I could put some pressure on the “bad leg” just a day after surgery.

Crutch school went well. And rather unexpectedly, I was given the all-clear to leave that afternoon. I called your mother thrilled with the news. I was not looking forward to using the bathroom behind curtains while a stranger watched, not with all these noses in attendance. I’d already seen other patients take shits in what I can only assume were buckets of some kind. So yeah, I was ecstatic to leave.
Your mum took my discharge papers, (which I still haven’t read thoroughly) when my bloodwork came back. I was given some meds to manage the pain and that was that.

The wheelchair ride leaving the hospital was bumpier than the car journey home. Mind you, your mother had only started driving in the UK when I had the accident, out of necessity. Talk about throwing someone in the deep end. She always swims to the top though. Charlie was in the backseat ordering food.

The days that followed were painful, trying and testing, and not only for me. Finding a routine and adjusting to a new way of life, albeit temporary, was a very grounding experience. In many ways, I am grateful for it. But no way do I want to relive it.