Started From The Bottom Now We Here

We made it! The longest and most brutal twelve weeks of my life have reached a semi-climactic end. My tendon has, medically speaking, returned to full strength and so I'm free to push open doors to my heart's content. Whether or not I feel mentally ready for that is an entirely different story, but I can't deny how good it feels to know that picking up a cup of coffee no longer carries a health risk.

The real fact of the matter is that this journey doesn't end here. Not even close. There's still a lot of healing left for my body to do (shout out to my antibodies for being total lazy bones and taking their sweet time) which means my hand still feels really super weird (that's a medical term) and will do for at least another few months. Hooray me.

Despite all the physio and the endless hours of forcing myself to get back to normality, I still haven't regained the natural instinct that comes with having two fully-functioning hands. Nothing feels natural anymore. Even now, am I using my index finger to type this? Nope. Am I able to use it to type things? Sure, it's just not all that enjoyable and so my brain has decided that it's easier to just avoid using it wherever possible.

Am I being dramatic? Possibly. But I've said it before, and I'll say it again, "you never know what you have until you no longer have it". Your hands are a huge part of who you are. Will your eyebrows still be on fleek if you only have one hand to draw them on with? Will your poached eggs be completely smooth if you only have one hand to crack the shell with? These are the important questions at times like this. And only time will tell you the answer.

Not only has this experience physically changed me, it's also had a huge impact mentally. Go figure. I actually lost some of the movement in my index finger for a good seven or so weeks because of the amount of trauma within the area, and it was mentally agonising trying to get it back.

Regardless of what happens next, I now know what it is to be brave, what it is to be strong, and what it is to say a giant "fuck you" to a Starbucks employee who cracks a hugely misplaced joke.

Stay away from knives, or better yet, keep out of the kitchen entirely.
~ Eleanor xo

| And if none of the above makes sense, you can read part one here and part two here |

Half Way There

Making good choices, it would seem, is not one of my strong points. This is one of the many things that has become abundantly clear to me over the last six weeks. We all know I'm a big fan of the epiphany, but not so much when I'm inundated with potentially life altering realisations all day every day. No wonder I'm tired all the time.

These realisations include, but are not limited to:

• After experiencing an anaesthetic injection, I probably won't have the balls to get a tattoo
• People can be really super nosey and not very tactful
• But some people can be really super nice and caring and offer to do things for you #babes #blessed
• Desperate Housewives is one of the greatest shows of all time. 100% fact
• Knees are literally the greatest gift God has given us. And elbows aren't too bad either
• I definitely care too much about what people think
• I need to stop that
• Knives are sharp
• I should probably do something different once in a while, like, I don't know, live a little
• There is no greater luxury than being able to put your arm into the sleeve of a jacket/hoodie/shirt
• Keeping your arm elevated every hour of every day makes you look like a real keen bean who always has something to say. And it's not all that comfortable when you try and sleep
• This injury works great as an excuse if you don't want to do something...

Anyway, by some miracle, I've made it through 50 days of my 85 day recovery. I was planning to publish this when I actually hit the half way mark (which was six weeks) but you know how life is, just getting in the way and all that. Plus, Now TV just started streaming Cougar Town, so you know, priorities. Either way, we're seven weeks down the line and it's been a wild old ride, that much I can tell you.

The first four weeks wearing an arm splint twenty-four-seven, were, shall we say, challenging. It's like that age-old saying: "You never know what you have, until you no longer have it". Obviously this better applies to break ups, but my hand felt like it had broken up with the rest of my body so it seems relevant. My four-times-a-day exercises got that little bit better and easier as the days past by; After two weeks I began 'scar massage' which is, as you can imagine, thoroughly unenjoyable (picture me perched on the side of my bathtub wincing and slathering E45 all over the wound in an attempt to treat the skin and get all that soft tissue to chillax a little bit); I saw my physiotherapist a handful of times (no pun intended) and together we nurtured my tendon back to semi-health.

At four weeks, Flint the Splint came off during daylight hours and I was allowed to use my hand for lightweight tasks (picture me attempting to squeeze a dry sponge. Now picture me trying to squeeze a dry car washing sponge. Yes, I had to improvise a bit...). As each week passes, theoretically, the tendon becomes stronger and so the weight of the things I can do increases; I've just about mastered holding a glass of water so that's pretty wild, right? But obviously, I'm massively looking forward to the end of week eight when I can finally drive again!

In my naive condition, I'd hoped that my hand would be in a slightly more usable state when the splint came off, and that I'd be back to washing my hair like the ladies in those borderline inappropriate Herbal Essences adverts. Sadly, we're not quite there yet, and although I've also had the luxury of being allowed to straighten my index finger, yesterday I learnt that my 'peace' sign ain't quite what it used to be.

There's still a fair way to go but I'm feeling positive, which is very unlike me so the pain medication must be working...
~ Eleanor xo

PS. The title of this post is in reference to this song, but you already knew that, right?

| And if none of the above makes sense, you can read part one here |

A Bump in the Road

As I type this, slowly and rather halfheartedly, I should be lying on a sun lounger, engrossed in a cheesy romance novel, dipping my perfectly painted toes in a swimming pool, eating paella and attempting to string together Spanish words (potentially all at the same time, but unlikely). Instead, I am sitting on my sofa, in Britain, sweating my way through this rainforest weather, wondering when this throbbing pain in my finger will stop.

Yes friends, 'Accident Prone Eleanor' has struck again. Quite spectacularly, if I may say so myself.

The first Saturday of June started tremendously well; my car passed its mini health check with flying colours (and the guy even discounted me a whole ninety pence so that was exciting), I then spent three hours sitting in a hair salon getting blonde highlights put in my hair... Only for disaster to strike fifteen minutes after hair flipping my way home.

Eleven days ago I had zilch idea what a tendon was, but today, I not only know what they are, but also that they hurt like a biatch if you accidentally cut through them with a sharp knife. That's the most un-grusome way of saying, "I was trying to remove the pit from an avocado and the knife slipped". My left index finger never saw what was coming.

I spent four hours in A&E on that Saturday afternoon, sobbing on my mum's shoulder like a real adult does. After plenty of poking, prodding and bleeding (on my part), the nurses told me that I'd need to be referred to a specialist plastic surgery hospital so they could properly check out the damage I'd done. So the next day, my parents and I travelled almost two hours to East Grinstead for more poking, more prodding and ultimately, a five hour wait for reconstructive surgery.

Even now, I can't say I ever envisioned spending a Sunday evening lying on an operating table, while a renowned plastic surgeon stitched one of my tendons back together (with just a tiny part of my hand anaesthetised). As I was awake for all of this, the surgeon generously offered to give me a tour of the inside of my hand; but needless to say, I declined. I may've been running off adrenaline for the full seventy-five minutes, but I'm not sure my stomach could've withstood such a sight... (And shout out to the other member of staff in the theatre who held my good other hand while this all went down; I feel we're now bonded for life).

A week and a half later, I'm one-hand down and slowly losing my patience. I was in the beastly post-surgery plaster cast with strict "do not move your fingers at all" instructions for three days until an Occupational Therapist cut me out and replaced it with a not-at-all fetching hand splint and new instructions to use my left hand only to do a bunch of physiotherapy excercises four times a day for the next four weeks to get the tendon back in working order. (This also meant I was unable to fly out to Alicante this weekend for my two week trip to España).

I'm not entirely sure what happens after the first four weeks are up; but I do know that I can't drive until week nine and that even though tendons generally return to 'full strength' after twelve weeks, the stitches are permanent. So for the next three months I'm taking baths with one hand dangling over the side of the tub, awkwardly shimmying into skinny jeans, cutting all my food up into cubes before I can eat it and trying not to tell gawking strangers in the street that severed tendons aren't contagious.

And the worst part of all this? I still really crave avocado.
~ Eleanor xo

FURTHER READING:

Medical info on tendon repair surgery and recovery | The correct (and safest) way to remove the pit from an avocado

I'm a Graduate!

Greetings dear ones, the person typing this is officially a university Bachelor of Arts graduate! (She's also full of pasta because she just consumed her own body weight at an Italian restuaurant because immense hunger took over). She also has some pretty hefty war wounds on her feet. She also needs to stop talking in the third person. Weirdo.

Graduation day was kind of insane, and frankly, passed way too quickly. It's all a bit of a blur and before you know it you're piling back into your car (full of Italian food) wondering where the day went and how you'll ever walk again.

From what I remember, it went a little something like this: you arrive, a tiny lady dresses you in your robes, she puts on your cap (it's really tight), you get professional photos taken (it's really awkward), you're ushered out, you explode with excitement when you see your friends, you pose for more photos (so so many photos), you leg it through the rain, you get registered, you find your seat, you sit and listen, you get called up, you concentrate on remembering what you name is and how to walk, you get given a degree (and in my case, a surprise Digital Marketing award), you sit through the rest of the ceremony, you clap (a lot), you parade out, you take more photos, you throw your cap in the air, you have some 'champagne', you say goodbye, you slip into your flat shoes and grumble about how you've never felt pain like this, you return your robes, you leave, it's over. You feel almost bereft.

But let's not dwell on how much I wish I could relive the day, here's a few fun tidbits for you:

Things they don't tell you about graduation that you have to learn the hard way:

1. Robes are really sodding heavy and will take any opportunity to strangle you

2. Attempting to pee whilst wearing said robes is a Herculean task

3. You don't suit hats

4. The ceremony is actually really long and you're clapping the success of people you've never heard of

5. Everyone else will give in an wear flats while walking across the stage. You'll realise too late.

6. It's actually quite stressful

7. You will want to cut your own feet off at the end of the day

8. You'll feel really emotional when they play a showreel of life at the university

9. Hosting a ceremony when there's a gale force storm going on is not ideal #StormBarney

10. It'll remind you how much you miss spending everyday with your best friends

11. You'll be too nervous to eat, but once the scary part is over, you'll be so ravenous you can barely stand 

12. You have no idea whose hand you're shaking

13. You'll be forced to wear Ugg boots to the office the next day because that's all your feet can manage

And finally: 14. It'll be a day you will never ever forget.
~ Eleanor xo

A New Beginning...

Greetings, loved ones, let's take a journey... to Windsor! My new playground! I mean, work place. That's right, you don't need to adjust your television sets, I am in fact an employed person! Wahooooo! *releases confetti canon and twirls in circles*. As you can tell, it's still very early days, hence the continued excitement. Give me a month or two and I'll be dragging my heels and ruing the day I ever decided a 9-5:30 job was a good idea.

Officially, I am a 'Digital Marketing Account Executive'. I know, that probably means absolutely nothing and I've spent the last week attempting to explain what it is to various family members. It means I'm badass. Basically, my soul purpose is to help manage the digital marketing of a certain French car manufacturer (and at times, a few other brands). And it's super exciting!

I'm actually not sure how much I'm allowed to say because I've signed so many confidentiality and 'non disclosure' agreements that I'm a bit scared to open my mouth at all. One said NDA was for a little known company called 'Apple Inc.'; maybe you've heard of it? There's a lot of super cool and top secret stuff happening in the three-story townhouse conversion I now call my office, and I can't wait to see what's in store.

I've had a whirlwind first week of production meetings, agreement signing, team introductions, welcome emails, business trips, client meetings, software training, celebratory lunches and "no, I don't shorten my name to Ellie"; and I couldn't imagine anywhere more perfect to work than beautiful Windsor.

Here's to this exciting next chapter!
~ Eleanor xo

{Keep your eyes peeled for lots of fun job related content coming soon!}

Saying "au revoir" to university and a general life update

To quote one of the best american television shows of all time (and one I feel did not deserve to ever be cancelled), 'Pushing Daises', "the facts were these...":

1. I have officially finished university forever, for good, for always, never to be revisited again (assuming I pass all my assignments that is. Gulp.)
2. I am going to take on the big bad world of grown-uphood.
3. I am a teeny-tiny bit terrified out of my mind.
4. Only a teeny-tiny bit.
5. That's a lie.

So now you've got the general gist on just where I am with my life ('panic attack central', if you want the technical name for it), I feel I probably should've started with a "Hello! I know it's been a thousand years but yes, I am still around". How are you, how's life, what's been happening?

If you've been sitting in front of your laptop for the last few months weeping to yourself because this blog looks like a metaphorical wasteland, where digital tumbleweeds roll past every so often (that's not a thing, but it totally should be), I am here to wipe away those tears and to birth some exciting news! Soz about using the word 'birth' in this context, feels a bit weird, doesn't it?

So what's been happening I don't hear you ask! Well, what hasn't been happening?! No seriously, I've spent so long cooped up inside writing my dissertation that I have fully lost all grip on reality and how to function as a normal human being. Absolutely no idea what day it is, or, following the recent election mumbo-jumbo, who is in fact, in control of the country.

I'm just kidding, I know it's still Dave - though he has full control now so if he starts decreeing we all send our kids off to a reaping for a Hunger Games style event, I'm shipping myself off to Peru. (I've chosen Peru because I just watched the Paddington film and it looks like a delightful place!)

But I digress; as this new updated layout hopefully conveys, there have been some changes happening around here. Namely, I now have the time to actually devote to doing this whole blogging thing justice. And that's what I'm going to try to do. (See earlier: "exciting news").

So here I am, inviting you to hop aboard the Eleanor-train and come along with me to face the triumphs, trials and tribulations of life as a (soon-to-be) advertising graduate, who spends most waking moments fighting the urge to squander her minuscule life savings on a one-way ticket to Paris. And the remaining waking moments on attempting to become Jennifer Lawrence.

I hope you enjoy the ride. And I hope I do too.
Opa!
~ Eleanor xo