Back and forth, up and down... what a muddle

A lot and very little has changed since my last blog post. I’m still taking things slow, much socialising is going on via zoom with occasional dinners at mine, and I’m back to self-imposed lock down in my little apartment, only this time it’s not just due to the coronavirus.

However, before I dive into the events of last weekend, I should start out with my exciting, yet slightly fleeting trip that occurred back at the beginning of the month. After more than 30 years beavering away at Shell, Dad has reached the monumental next step in his life: retirement, something for which he has the most extraordinary list of experiences to try out and new skills to learn. As soon of these coronavirus gates are out of the way it sounds like he’ll be busier than ever! Marking this significant step was something I could not miss. So, at the end of October I bid farewell to Sweden, donned my face mask, brushed off my passport, and flew across to the UK.

At this point, Dad was completely unaware that I was making my way over and probably wondering why Mum was being such a downer on any plans to meet up with friends that weekend. By 11 am this all came to light though; while Dad was frantically trying to sort out the last of his work emails, Mum ‘popped out to Tesco’ and instead collected one helium balloon and one ecstatic daughter. On arriving home, I strolled into the office with a cup of coffee and said balloon and was greeted with a face of pure surprise; the customary wide eyes, stammered response, and jaw dropped into a perfect ‘o’. The weeks of planning and secrets were completely worth it for that moment. (See bottom of page for video!)

That evening, we completed the pack with the arrival of Tom, toasted Dad’s new found freedom, and let him in on the plans for the following week: a short break in a national trust property and dinner in town. This is 2020 though, good old unpredictable 2020, so these plans did not last long. The next morning we awoke to the news of an imminent lockdown across England, later confirmed to be starting that following Thursday, and trips to country cottages and dinners in town don’t tend to marry too well with a national lockdown, so those plans will have to wait. Unfortunately, the new restrictions also included tighter boarder controls, meaning international travel would become rather tricky as planes remained on the ground. Therefore, I made the tough decision to move my return flight forward by 12 days and instead return to Sweden on the Tuesday before lockdown began.

Despite my trip being somewhat shorter than planned and with a few less reunions than expected, I was able to spend a relaxing weekend with Tom, Mum, and Dad, including a walk down to the Grocer (the café I used to work at) for one of the ham and cheese toasties I had such fond memories of. On the Monday, following a mad dash around Tesco to gather supplies (getting used to the constant face mask use after many lax months in Sweden), my cousin and travel buddy Libby came over to Coleshill for an exceptionally muddy walk and much needed catch up. Then, my time in the UK was pretty much up, I had a final family dinner and the next morning bid farewell and caught a packed flight back to Stockholm.

While Sweden certainly is a lot more lax than the UK, restrictions are also increasing over here, as of next Tuesday (24^th) gatherings are limited to a maximum of 8 people and strong recommendations have been made to avoid busy public areas. It has been easy enough for me to avoid going into work as I have been taking an online computing course, learning how to code in two computing languages; something that is completely outside my comfort zone but surprisingly quite fun. Beyond work, I’ve gotten back into my routine of Monday evening dinner and sport with Felicity, Wednesday evening Swedish lessons, and plenty of chilled evening with Emil in between.

On my first weekend back, I met up with Emil, Felicity and her boyfriend Thomas for a good bouldering session in southern Stockholm, then Emil and I caught up with a small handful of his friends over a range of cocktails at Mattias’ place that evening. The following weekend’s bouldering session was a tad less successful. Emil and I went to the smaller climbing centre near his place, arriving as it opened so we pretty much had the place to ourselves. An hour in and our arms were turning to jelly. There was one slightly challenging looking overhang climb that we were determined to try as our final route for the day and after Emil had successfully completed it, I wasn’t going to let it get the better of me. I managed to make it to the top, but to truly achieve a climb you have to touch the top hold with both hands. I swung across and made a grab but failed to get a good grip so tumbled back down onto the big crashmat below, catching myself on the side of my foot and emitting a small ‘crack’ as I twisted my ankle. Ouch.

Emil got help from the climbing centre staff who kindly bandaged up my throbbing ankle then we caught a taxi back to mine to put my foot up, pack it with ice and let it rest while we had some lunch delivered and made a start on the fantastic series, Chernobyl. As the adrenaline wore off, it soon became apparent that the ‘crack’ may have signalled something a little worse than a simple twist. So, with much help from Emil, I went to get it checked out at the hospital. Unfortunately, due to Covid, Emil wasn’t allowed past the main doors and I had to hop my way up to the doctors by myself, leaving Emil to wander the streets for a few hours. Within 20 minutes I was hopping along what seemed like an endless corridor for my first x-ray which showed that the ‘crack’ we had heard was just that. I had broken my ankle, or more precisely, I had an intra-articular fracture that displaced a 2-3 cm fragment of the medial malleolus by 1 mm. Oops. This, the doctor informed me, meant I was in for a long day as I needed a CT scan to get a 3D view of the joint before they could put it into plaster.  I thought it probably best to suggest Emil head home at this point rather than wandering the streets for another 7 hours and I settled into my wheelie bed on the A & E ward where I was joined by two older Swedish guys who chatted away to me in Swe-nglish. After many hours waiting, and much stomach rumbling (wish I’d taken some snacks!), my ankle was finally plastered up in a lovely blue number (seems 6 weeks in plaster should do the trick) and I was ready to return home.

Since then, my one trip into the outside world was to collect some injections from the pharmacy in town, as these for some reason had to be collected in person the following day. Otherwise, I’ve been making good use of my sofa, appreciating how well suited a 25 m² studio apartment is to immobility, and getting thoroughly spoiled by Emil as he comes bearing gifts of fresh food every few days. Some of the old routine also continues, at the beginning of the week I had a visit from Felicity who delivered ‘meals on wheels’ as she brought her Monday night dinner over to mine and to finish off Friday I had a good couple of catch ups over Zoom with Uncle Steve followed by old uni friends, Steph and Rachael.

I’ll find out on Tuesday, when I get my cast changed, what the path ahead is for my ankle, but for now, I’ll be doing a good job of sticking to covid recommendations and developing exceptional balance on my right leg! I hope everyone is doing ok back home and that I can make a more substantial trip across to see you all some time in the near future. In the meantime, stay safe and make sure to get yourself a jolly good advent calendar (a daily dose of chocolate definitely seems to brighten up the day!).