"Enjoy yourself. It’s later than you think”. (Chinese Proverb)

Of the two-hundred and six bones that form the human skeleton, what difference could one small fracture make to your quality of life?

More than you may think.

I fractured one of the metatarsal bones in my foot about a month ago - twenty nine days to be exact – and have to endure another four to six gruelling weeks walking (hopping) on crutches prior to an indefinite period of time hobbling around in a walking boot. That equates to an incarceration period of approximately three months, during which time I will have missed out on countless walks in the park, innumerable showers, and approximately four hundred and twenty working hours.

OK, so I can enjoy long, leisurely baths – that is, providing I don’t slip on a floor tile or knock my foot on the tap. I can also sit in a beer garden, as long as someone can give me a lift into the city and I don’t get so merry on wine I fall over (again). And let’s face it, there are more pressing things in life than serving drinks for minimum wage, but that’s beside the point. What is of consequence is that not only am I unable to enjoy life’s simple pleasures, but my ability to perform basic functions is limited - whether I want to or not.

A publican recently told me that he didn’t leave his bed for three months after sustaining an ankle injury slipping on a bathroom floor tile (ouch). But the idea that this bold, burly man had yielded to his circumstances so readily (bed-pan and all) frankly alarmed me, and I am unable to identify with either his idleness or self-imposed exile.

Perhaps I’m a sucker for punishment, but being a natural born fidget, I find nothing more miserable than doing nothing. I’m not the most patient person I know - in fact, far from it – but I believe in perseverance over passive waiting. As Leo Tolstoy once said, “The two most powerful warriors are patience and time.”  There is nothing so deadening to the human spirit as inactivity.

Even so - and I am loathe to admit – in the past month even I have succumb to the idle virtues daytime TV and lengthy siestas. Whoever said patience is a virtue clearly didn’t have to tolerate back-to-back talk-shows.

Besides its obvious inconveniences, the impact of an injury to levels of health and fitness is also remarkable. And ladies: if your primary means of getting around involves hopping about on crutches, you will need to invest in a supportive bra. If you suffer with ‘bingo-wings’ (arm flab for those that don’t) you’ll wonder why you didn’t start training your upper body sooner.

Adverse side-effects, such as calloused hands and muscular atrophy are counterbalanced by newly acquired strength in the upper extremities, in addition to significant improvement to overall balance and poise. You’ll find this new-found stability decreases your risk of falling over and hurting yourself, so you’ll probably be kicking yourself for not incorporating hopping into your exercise routine sooner.

By far the most surprising aspect of a visible injury is the inconsiderateness of others. Not to mention so-called friends that give you nick-names like ‘Skippy’ and ‘Hop-Along’...

Taxi drivers are, for the most part, a friendly and amenable sort, helping offload luggage and sometimes even adjusting the driver’s seat to make room for battered limbs and crutches. Unsurprisingly, such good humour is not de rigour amongst say, the typical stranger in the street.  But much to my horror and shame, even the average customer in a service establishment (bar/ restaurant) is determinedly unhelpful.

When it comes to negotiating stairs and doors women are especially nonchalant. Whilst they wouldn’t hesitate to help either a pregnant woman or mother struggling through a doorway armed with a pushchair, the sight of a young woman using one crutch as a battering ram and the other to keep her balance only provokes the odd derisive smile, and at best raises a few eyebrows.

I’m beginning to think the refusal to succumb to a slothful bed-ridden existence is an inconvenience – not so much for the hindered – but for everybody else.

Amanda Carey/MOLI