My left arm remains broken, I am still signed off sick from work and I feel fed up.

Don’t be alarmed – I am not about to sink into a downward spiral of depression. Despite my ongoing health problems, I continue to remain generally upbeat. However, it would be dishonest of me, if I was to say that everything was a bed of roses and tickety-boo.

I recently received a reality check from my GP. As my absence from work is longterm, I am required to periodically submit doctors notes to my employer, to prove that I am unfit for work and not simply suffering from skiveritis.

My last two notes from my doctor each stated that I would be off work for four weeks. Given my frustrating slow progress, I thought that it would be wise if the next note cover six weeks. I reluctantly made this request.

My GP was very willing to write a note, explaining that I need to avoid work for longer than four weeks. The problem was that my doctor was so concerned by my current plight, that he insisted on excusing me from work for three months!

Cheers, Dr Dolittle! Actually, that’s unfair – my GP doesn’t do little. In fact, he works very hard, and the only time I felt any resentment towards him, was when he made fun of my Leeds United wallet.

Three months. Wow. That was a reality check. By the time this latest note runs out, I’ll be a year older, have eaten a chocolate egg and should know if Leeds have won promotion, or bottled it for the ten thousandth time.

I wasn’t happy. How was I going to break the news to my work? They were probably expecting me back at the end of February. I needed to speak to my GP again and ask that he provide me with a replacement note, covering just six weeks.

I didn’t call my GP. I thought rationally about the situation and talked to my wife and dad about it. I realised that my doctor has my best interests at heart, and like it or not, three months was probably a realistic estimate into how much time I required, in order to complete my recovery.

If somebody was to buy me a visit to a faith healer for my birthday (hint! hint!), and my broken arm was to get magically fixed before late April, I can contact my GP again, to ask that he writes me a new note, stating I’m better and ready for work!

By the way, if any generous friend or family member is reading this and is stuck for what to buy me for my 38th birthday, don’t bother with a faith healer. I don’t believe that they’re anything but frauds, praying on the sick, vulnerable and desperate.

Nothing less than the second coming of Christ would convince me that there are any genuine faith healers on the planet. Save your money and pre-order me a PlayStation 5. Now THAT’S what I call a birthday present!

I was worried about breaking the news of my break to work. I don’t know why. I work alongside a fantastic team, with a manager who is very supportive, especially where my health is concerned.

As I have discovered so many times throughout my life, the worries I felt were unnecessary. Work took the news of my three month doctors note very well and were understanding when I mentioned my frustrations about the slow recovery process.

The most frustrating element of my current situation, is that two of the three limbs I originally broke – my right leg and arm – are pretty much fixed. I am just waiting on my left arm, which remains in a sling and problematic.

This one limb is keeping me bedridden for the vast majority of the day. I normally use a walking frame to transfer from bed to toilet to stairlift to sofa to… you get the idea. Therefore, with one of my two arms remaining very much out of action, use of the frame and regaining all the independence that it brings, continues to be impossible.

I have a hospital appointment next Friday, where my arm will receive an x ray. Sadly for me, this probably involves the use of torture equipment, or as radiologists call them, “x ray cassettes”. See previous blog posts, if you have no idea what I’m on about.

I am hoping that the x ray images reveal further healing to my left arm, meaning that I can finally throw the sling in the bin and teach myself to walk again – albeit with a frame.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY:
Did the word “sling”, as in “sling that ball to me”, originate from the horrible contraption used by orthopaedic patients? E.g. “hooray! My arm is fixed. I can now sling that fecking sling in the bin!” I’m willing to say “yes”.