Let's set the scene: It's the morning of January 10th, 2025. I'd love to tell you I was base-jumping, fighting a bear, or wrestling a refrigerator. The dramatic truth? I was doing the most dangerous thing a person can do: sleeping. I woke up with a scream, an unexplained agony radiating from both shoulders, and a diagnosis that currently sits somewhere between "medical mystery" and "I clearly fought a ghost."
My 13-year-old son was up an hour earlier than usual when he heard me cry out. After taking paracetamol and ibuprofen, the pain didn't budge—it just kept getting worse. We called on my fantastic next-door neighbour who gave us a lift straight to A&E. This wasn't exactly the start to the New Year I was planning.
The Six-Day Mystery
This whole saga is actually my second unexpected visit to the NHS in under a year. Back in June 2024, I suffered a grand mal seizure during my sleep. The first thought that comes to mind when I recount that event is one of overwhelming guilt. It was my son who was alerted to the fact I was seizing and had to call 999. I can’t imagine what that scene must have been like for him to witness, but I was (and still am) blown away by how he handled everything. He truly is my legend.
Fast forward to the shoulders, and the mystery only deepens.
The hospital staff, bless them, took six full days to realise I hadn't just 'slept funny.' Six days later, the big reveal: I had dislocated both shoulders, fractured my left humerus, broke my right shoulder, and completely torn the rotator cuff. How did this take nearly a week to find out? That is a work in progress. I’m currently waiting for my medical records to be sent to me, so right now, the answer is just "Hospital Magic."
A 50/50 Nap
The next step was surgery on the left side, which was deemed most likely to have a favourable outcome.
This was indeed the case, and the surgery was as successful as it could be and continues to get better.
The right side? A whole different ballgame.
My surgery for the right shoulder took place five weeks after I presented at A&E. This presented significant difficulties for the surgeon because the bones had started to fuse, but in the wrong position. The resulting complex operation was a 50/50 in terms of potential success—for the surgeon, that is. My role was easy, as I was simply taking a nap.
The outcome? The bad 50% won the battle.
My rotator cuff could not be repaired, and therefore the joint is utterly buggered. I can’t do very much with my right side at all. The best way to describe it is this: if you stand up and put both arms out straight out in front, I can only get my right arm to about 30 degrees. Which, honestly, isn't great when I'm still waiting for my invitation to be an Olympic gymnast.
The Salvage Mission
So, the reason for this additional post? I have my third surgery of 2025 on November 11th, which will be a total shoulder replacement—commonly referred to as a 'salvage operation.' Doesn’t instil a lot of hope for my Olympic dreams, but it is what it is!
Once I’ve received my medical records, I’ll have a clearer picture of exactly what happened and why there was a delay in things being discovered. But right now, I thought I’d post a real-time update rather than recanting stories which started in 2006. Can't remember what I did 30 minutes ago, but 20 years? No bother.
Much love.
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