"Rebuilt in Wishaw - A heel-Arious Tale"

I never expected my grand downfall to be caused by a rogue boulder hidden in grass. One moment I was attempting a rescue of my sons football from over a fence,  and the next my heel bone made a noise loud enough to terrify a passing seagull.

I hit the ground with the grace of a toppled wheelie bin and realised very quickly that something in my foot was definitely not where it used to be.

Before I knew it, I was bundled into my wife’s car, bags of frozen peas in tow and whisked off to the legendary Wishaw Orthopaedics, a place whispered about like a mythical healing fortress. 

People said they had fixed everything from football injuries to the aftermath of bizarre DIY experiments gone wrong. I figured if anyone could help, it would be them! 

Fast forward a week and I’m in for day surgery to repair what could only be described as a smashed tunnocks caramel wafer. 

The first hero to appear was Nurse Louise, armed with a clipboard and the organisational prowess of someone who could coordinate a military operation in her sleep. She set about gathering every detail of how I had managed to defeat myself jumping over a fence, but also my name, and personal stats. Her manner made it clear she had met many like me — hopeless, hobbling, and slightly embarrassed. Under her supervision, I was shepherded through the necessary checks and firmly encouraged not to attempt any heroic movements ever again! She also spoke with experience having broke her leg recently and managed to offer comfort that “this too shall pass” ! 

The conclusion was clear: I needed someone with elite-level bone-rebuilding skills.

That’s when the legend herself arrived — Miss Hayward, consultant Orthopedic Surgeon.  She explained the approach she was going to take due to the shattered pattern of my heel with the quiet focus of a master craftswoman planning her next masterpiece. I realised instantly that if anyone could put me back together, it was her and it was clear she had rebuilt more intricate foot bones than I had IKEA flat-packs, and much much better! 

She assured me, in her own charismatic way, that things were looking grim but very much fixable. 

When I woke up after surgery, floating between reality and leftover anaesthetic, I became aware of several things at once: the pain had dulled to something merciful, a random hospital sock had mysteriously appeared on my foot, and the room felt strangely peaceful. Bit by bit, I pieced together the truth — the heel bone that had resembled shattered shortbread had been expertly rebuilt. Plates, screws, and Miss Hayward’s ninja skills had brought it back from the brink.

Back on the ward. Nurse Gwen and Karen arrived bringing a burst of bright, unstoppable cheer as if summoned specifically to lift the spirits of the injured and me, the overly dramatic. She examined the beeping machines beside me like they were old friends and assessed my cast with the patient amusement of someone who has nursed far too many foolish accidents reminded me that I don’t bounce as well as I think I can! 

Between them, the three nurses radiated the kind of competence that could probably fix the NHS single-handedly if anyone asked - absolute angels in disguise, true salt of the earth people.

The following hours were a blur of constructive and needed lectures about taking it easy, gradual victory and brilliant advice. Karen kept me from attempting anything foolish (which, unfortunately, I had a talent for it seemed) and the importance of keeping my leg higher than my nose! She also assured me to the fact that Miss Hayward was indeed a legendary surgeon and I was in good hands. Louise made sure my blood pressure was intact, my spirits were high and gave my hand a good wax taking my cannulas out. Gwen brought laughter, encouragement, and the kind of positivity that made recovery seem almost fun.

Bit by bit, they all rebuilt more than just my heel — they rebuilt my morale especially with it being the festive time of year.

Eventually it was time for me to leave Wishaw Orthopaedics. With my crutches under my arms and my newly reinforced heel held together better than some historical monuments, I made my slow but triumphant exit. As I was wheeled toward the doors by Gwen and my waiting wife - I carried with me not just metalwork, recovery instructions and a home pharmacy but a deep and phenomenal appreciation for the nurses who kept me going that day, and the surgeon and her anaesthetics team who put me back together.

I had arrived in Wishaw broken, pride damaged but thanks to the whole Wishaw Orthopaedic trauma team - I left feeling like I was built to last — maybe even stronger than before.

These nurses are the quiet heroes who turn chaos into comfort and fear into reassurance. They carry compassion in their hands and strength in their hearts and the world runs smoother, softer, and kinder because nurses choose to care.

Thank you all.