While on a cycling trip in the mountains of Ranikot Fort I sustained a right distal radius fracture (a fracture of the forearm) from a fall. This injury eventually progressed from when I could not even look at the wound, which reminded me of a cut-up cadaver, to when I wear it proudly as a souvenir from my ‘trip’.

On the road to recovery, I learnt that a healthy lifestyle and attitude helps get you back on your feet faster. But the foremost concern is, of course, timely and correct treatment.

Right after my fall my fellow cyclists called a medic who made a temporary splint for my wrist; I was administered a strong painkiller and the organisers decided to rush me back to Karachi and a cycling partner was asked to accompany me.

Sajida Ali shares her experience, and tips, on coping with injury and temporary disability

Back in Karachi a cycling friend, Naeema, who had been injured a while ago, guided me about doctor and hospital selection. My family rushed me to hospital, where the doctor recommended surgery. I took three different opinions, and all three surgeons suggested the same procedure of inserting a titanium plate and aligning the shattered bone fragments with screws.

Right after I came out of surgery the doctor checked my hand for feeling and asked me to move my fingers, and that was the first step to rehabilitation. While I had to keep my hand raised and not put any weight on it, I had to start hand exercises at once. The surgeon gave me a recovery timeline and concurrent exercises. Focusing on doing these exercises distracted from the excruciating pain.

A strong support network is another vital element.

I would probably have run out of the hospital without surgery except for my sister who made sure that I was rolled into the operation theatre. She was not only with me throughout my hospital stay but also stood by my side as I struggled to regain independence and do things (slowly and painfully) on my own. She sent me links on comfortable sleeping and sitting positions, exercises, rehab tips and support group chats for my injury.

To help with pain management my son drew a schedule for painkiller doses, while my daughter helped with my personal chores. My mother was my spiritual rock. I found solace and strength in her prayers. She sent me light foods like soups and sandwiches that I could eat easily with the nausea-inducing medicines.

Painkillers were no match for the excruciating agony of broken bones screwed back on and cut flesh stitched back in place and I could not sleep for more than a couple of hours at a stretch. The unsightly sight of a swollen, bruised, cut and stitched-up numb gash right on my very own hand looked eerily like Frankestein’s cadaverous monster.

My friend took me to a different park every day for my walk, shielding my injured side, distracting my mind and hearing me out. My cycling friends took me to get-togethers, and urged me to go for physiotherapy. They kept pushing me to restart cycling as soon as possible, tempting me with exciting routes. My rowing partner would come over to my home often with movies and snacks in lieu of our training.

Naeema, having been through it herself recently, was my rehab mentor. She took time out to guide me in all aspects of recovery and rehab including occupational therapy, natural remedies such as use of turmeric and aloe vera, homeopathy and precautions.

It was very thoughtful of other injured persons to share their stories and offer advice, suggestions, encouragement, empathy and motivation when they saw my sling. From the attendant in the OPD who told me to keep moving my fingers to avoid atrophy, to the jogger in the park who explained how jogging had speeded the recovery of his arm (a fitter body meant a fitter arm too), to the friend who showed me a nonexistent scar as an assurance of how this would soon be behind me, to the sports injury doctor who told me to keep my spirits high by thinking of myself as a jogger for the time I could not be a cyclist or rower, I was supported by all.

Occupational therapy

After the surgery, performing daily activities was difficult (but not impossible). Now I knew about physiotherapy but was unaware of occupational therapy, something I was introduced to by Naeema.

Najma Adam, an occupational therapist, worked on my oedema (collection of fluid around tissues, etc.), range of motion, strength and coordination. She supported me emotionally and provided much needed reassurance. When she unwrapped my crepe bandage and examined my hand like it was perfectly okay, life suddenly felt normal once again. The pain became bearable within a day of starting therapy. The swelling subsided visibly. Most of all my fear and anxiety subsided.

Najma monitored every aspect of my life to ensure it facilitated my recovery: my daily routine, diet, even my exercise clothes. She suggested modifications and provided equipment for increased mobility. She checked my daily progress and whether I had continued exercises at home.

Consistency was the key point. “The sooner you start, the better results you will achieve”. She insisted that there was only one goal in my life now and that was to recover fully. I had to change my priorities. She made sure I attended every session daily, even on weekends, till I became independent and reached my prior level of function.

Following medical advice and self-care

It was not enough to make perfunctory visits to the doctor. Quick recovery would not have been possible without following medical advice diligently. Taking prescribed medicines like Vitamin D injections on time, doing the recommended hand exercises in warm water five times a day, avoiding any work that involved stressing my injured hand and being punctual with follow-up visits earned me a clean bill of health well within the time estimated by the doctor.

My impatience and drive for action and perfection made me take responsibility for my own care. It was much easier for me to care for myself than to wait for someone to come and tend to me.

Keeping faith

Prayers helped. It helped to be patient, steadfast and thankful, and to appreciate the blessings in life. When I saw the beauty of healing instead of the brokenness, I believed without any doubt that I would recover fully and speedily.

Talking it out

The first week after the fall I was full of depression, fear, worry, pain, guilt and regret. Why, oh why, did I go down that slope? I felt guilty and sheepish for putting my family through the anxiety and the hassle. The horror of the fall would replay in recurrent nightmares.

I regretted that I did not wait till I found a doctor who would have conducted a non-invasive procedure. When I saw my swollen, purple arm I seriously thought it was infected and might need amputation, God forbid. I was paranoid that the operation may have been bungled or was an unnecessary scam.

Painkillers were no match for the excruciating agony of broken bones screwed back on and cut flesh stitched back in place and I could not sleep for more than a couple of hours at a stretch.

The unsightly sight of a swollen, bruised, cut and stitched-up numb gash right on my very own hand looked eerily like Frankestein’s cadaverous monster.

I worried incessantly about when and if ever I would be able to row and cycle and swim and drive again. All this was compounded by the depression of being housebound by disability and dependence.

My family and friends were my support group for post-traumatic stress. They encouraged me to talk things out so that I could make sense of the events, seek reassurance and reduce my distress. Discussing all my stressors helped me find their solutions.

Staying fit and focused, finding motivation and encouragement

I wanted to get back to my life as soon as possible, and I started doing as much as I could independently, without crossing doctors’ red lines or damaging or complicating the injury.

Every tiny progress was a milestone I shared with delight. ‘Today I pressed the touchpad with my index finger!’ ‘I can raise my thumb up now!’ ‘Today I held a pencil and scribbled my name!’ ‘I turned on a switch!’ My family reacted as if I had flown to the moon and back. Success is a great motivator, and within months I messaged, ‘Today I drove the car!’

I had got my wings back and could fly again! I could row and swim and cycle and travel and write and do whatever I wanted.

Published in Dawn, Sunday Magazine, November 9th, 2014