ODE TO ABERDEEN # 2 AND A NICELY TURNED ANKLE

I am happy to report I have been promoted to 100% weight bearing -my broken ankle is mending beautifully and resembles the ankle it once was and I am grateful. The loss of the ability to use my ankle due to  breakage was devastating but what hurt as much was the appearance  of my new ankle. I have always been pleased with my ankles-having what was called in Mid Victorian Era "a finely turned ankle" and I am  sorry to confess that I was shamelessly mourning this loss. My ankle was grotesquely swollen , the foot badly formed,the shin and calf bruised in many colours and the skin scaly. My nicely turned ankle was no more.The Victorians knew what they were about when they emphasized the ankles- There was nothing more provocative than watching an elegant lady descending from a carriage,lifting her skirts a few inches and exposing a finely turned ankle.This turned heads.Indeed exposure of ankles and legs was so powerful that it started the practice of covering chair legs in material and the covering of -horror-piano legs. Every era has a different idea of what is sexually provocative. We all know what the emphasis was in the 1950's and the less said about that the better. The sixties was all about  mini skirts and the "leg men" were in heaven watching those long limbed British girls on Barnaby street in London. The emphasis in the eighties was on long luxurious hair being provocatively flung about  and of course the midriff and belly button were worshiped in the nineties   but the Victorians had all these eras beat and the best part is that a finely turned ankle remains a finely turned  ankle even with the passing of years-so now you know why I mourned the loss of my fine ankle and was so pleased to see it finely turned again.This blogg is not about ankles really-this was just to draw you in. The real reason is my promise to write my Ode to Aberdeen #2- not an ode but a prose of praise. The praise is for the clients or residents of Aberdeen.The whole time I was there I was awed at the resilience and  spirit of the human being. The average age of the residents was about eighty five-ranging from sixties to a fine lady at a hundred and one. Most were in their late eighties-usually active before disaster struck. The main conversation at table was about the homes they left and, because of the nearness of Christmas-of Christmas past and wishes to get home in time for Christmas present. One could see the knowledge in their eyes that they may not make it but none the less a brave front was put on and cheerfulness presided-very much as if we were indeed on a cruise. It was impressive to see the way everyone helped each other to overcome their disabilities-assisting at mealtime or helping to push the wheelchairs of the more challenged. There was always the possibility that one would not improve and would land up as a permanent resident. In the first week, a resident in a wheelchair asked me what had happened and after telling her I asked the same question-she said  "I broke my hip. It was a beautiful day with sunshine and I just wanted to go for a walk  with my walker and fell and broke my hip. That night in the hospital I fell out of bed and also broke my shoulder. That is why I am here". I was shocked and asked her how long ago this had happened and my blood ran cold when she said "Two years ago-" then as she wheeled away-she said  wistfully"It was such a beautiful day and all I wanted to do was go for a little walk." This then was the unspoken fear and was the impetus for all of us to improve. Every day most turned up for physio and exercises in spite of tiredness or pain or just old age and the bantering and good spirits belied the fact of suffering or doubt and even pride as we fumbled and  tried to follow the physiotherapist. The other thing that impressed me was the over stimulation we were bombarded with-the bright lights , the noise -never being alone-we were in four bed rooms-and the constant interaction with others. Yet I rarely witnessed confrontation  and bad temper.Good humour and politeness was common. The most heartening was the lack of envy as some of us moved ahead to walkers and more independence. The fortunate ones were always greeted with encouraging applause and smiles and not envy.  When I realized I would be home before Christmas I tried to downplay this news but of course there were few secrets at Aberdeen and it was heartwarming to hear the well wishes from everyone as I left. The last thing I want to talk about was my respect for Blackie. Blackie was a scruffy black cat that lived at the rear entrance  of Aberdeen in a three story wooden house complete with heater, steps leading to the next two floors and penthouse. The whole place was festooned with Christmas lights and nativity scene on the balcony.As I exited I was greeted by the sight of my son-in-law standing on a rickety upturned bucket and stringing more lights. Blackie's owner -in wheelchair -told me he had spent over seventy dollars on decorations.Blackie distainfully paced before his house =not impressed.Everyone in the Aberdeen tried to find a way to meet Blackie who with his master has been living there for years.