Flying wounded

Monday morning, we drove over to Bristol to visit Amanda, somewhat worried that we hadn't recently heard from her. There was nobody at home when we called. A text message to James at school revealed she'd been taken into hospital and he's not got around to informing us. As the hospital in question wasn't her local one, but somewhere over in Bath, an impromptu visit was out of the question, so we returned home. 

There was plenty to do in the office, so I went in and worked there for the aftrernoon, as I won´t be around for a while and will have to work remotely. In the evening I packed my rucksack ready to fly. It was on the floor ready to carry downstairs. As I bent over to insert a book, I felt that lightning bolt sensation that heralds the nightmare of a trapped nerve. And it was in exactly the same position the pain hit as occurred when I was demolishing the old garden shed after Christmas. Oh dear, and a flight to take Tuesday evening.

There could be no late opportunity to book an appointment with a chiropracter. I just had to hope the pain could be managed until treatment in Spain was possible. It was pretty bad Tuesday afternoon, so much so that the only respite from agony was to be found in standing Tai Chi style with 'soft knees' and 'long neck'. I couldn't fold up enough to get in the car to be ferried direct to Cardiff airport, so Clare came with me on the 61 bus. I stood all the way. The wait for the airport shuttle bus was brief, and I was able to sit with grab handles close by to lift myself when discomfort escalated. 

At the airport terminal I registered for Special Assistance, and with a little care cleared security controls with out needing to do much lifting. I was two hours early, and the plane was 15 minutes late arriving. For most of the wait I just had to stand to manage the pain. I was surprised at how quickly time passed, being thus occupied. The airport staff were very kind and helpful and so were the charming Vueling flight attendants. There was room to move around on board, but my seat was so comfortable that I only got up three times during the flight - once as we flew over Madrid, which looked amazingly sci-fi from seven miles high. 

The plane made up time and arrived only five minutes late. I was escorted down the stairs, which thankfully I could cope with alone, to the invalid transport van where I was assigned a wheelchair for the journey to passport control. We had to wait around for quite a while, but the Special Assistance worker assigned to look after me wheeled me all the way to the RENFE station, and by ten forty I was Fuengirola bound. I hobbled into the apartment at quarter past eleven, and spent ages thawing a meal I prepared before going away and unpacking, so it was one before I lowered myself gingerly into bed.