Bella Frattura

To be honest I didn't know I was getting a leg cage when I went into the operating theatre (I never remember the official name of it in Italian so it was christened and remains 'leg cage'). Due to my poor understanding of medical Italian I had a few communication troubles, but seeing as I managed to damage myself in seemingly the most hypochondriac country in Europe (more of that another time) I was fairly trusting of the doctors' ability to put me right.

I knew I wouldn't have a cast due to the fact that I sustained, as the doctor told me, a 'bella frattura'. This does not, as one might assume mean a beautiful fracture, but on the contrary a bloody bad fracture (oh, the complexities of understanding this strange language). Instead there were mutterings around my bedside about 'ferro' (that would be iron to me and you), and it was explained to me that a rod would be put inside my leg to reconnect the bones. So far, so good. I explained to everyone what would be happening, and a few days later was wheeled into the operating room under local anaesthetic expecting to be wheeled out with some kind of long incision down my leg where they'd inserted the rod. They put a screen up in front of my face so I couldn't see what was going on, and I lay in a fair amount of discomfort for four hours while I heard them drilling and cutting, and felt strange sensations of tugging, hammering and screwing. Hang on, hammering and screwing? What the hell were they doing down there? 'Ah, whatever' I thought, tranquillized to the teeth 'who cares'.

Outside the theatre I waited with a sheet over my leg waiting to be taken back to the ward when along came my doctor. '"It went really, really well. Are you ready to see it?" he asked me, eyes full of excitement. He pulled back the cover and revealed to me for the first time my leg cage. He smiled, "quanto e bella?" he asked me- “isn’t it beautiful?” 'Ok' I thought, understanding, 'he’s slipped in another of those confusing, sneaky ‘bella’s’', and I started to agree how terrible and hideous the cage was. Then I realised that it wasn’t a sneaky bella; his face was shining with pride as he gazed in admiration at his work. "This technology is modern-issimo, isn't it great? Hang on, let me take a quick photo". He then proceeded to take out his mobile phone and take photos from several different angles. "Cool, now I can show all my friends" he informed me enthusiastically. A nurse came over and asked “can’t we take her away yet?” The doctor finished off his photography, took one last loving glance at the cage before re-covering it gently, and allowing the nurse to wheel me away.