If I say PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) what do you imagine? Some poor military bod returning from Afghanistan with their nerves in bits? A survivor of a terrorist attack? Yes, me too. NOT a large, country-living, past middle-aged woman who just threw herself off her motorbike. No. That’s silly.
Well, when you consider that the least sporty person in the world (moi) can’t suffer from Athlete’s Foot, so it travels a long way north and becomes Athlete’s Tit (same condition but under the boob), it isn’t really that surprising.
When my GP told me, I gave him one of my “Naaaaaaaaah” looks and he explained that it wasn’t the accident, it was the treatment that caused the real trauma shock. I gave this information a couple of moments’ thought and nodded. Yes, helicopter rescue, immediate and severe surgery, followed by coma and waking up tied to the bed (worst bit) was probably a bit shocking.
More reflection reminded me that I knew someone who got it from his job, which had been a long placement abroad in a post where he had bodyguards and a bullet-proof car. Mind you, I know people who would consider Post Trauma to be what you go through when they fail to deliver a parcel to your house when you had stayed in to receive it, so you have to traipse down to the depot to pick it up. That wouldn’t surprise me at all.
So I’m still a bit quiet. I’m recovering. Having had my nerves stretched to snapping point since September is tiring. I’ll be back slowly xxx