Xixón

21.04.25 — Gijón

Xixón

21.04.25 — Gijón

Being discharged from physiotherapy and sent back to work meant I was, once again, free to travel. Since the accident, I hadn’t been allowed to leave the Community of Madrid, so I immediately looked to visit somewhere —anywhere— for a change of scenery. This, naturally, took me to Asturias.

Asturias is a place that I will always return to. Since my Asturian friend, Kevin, showed me its wonders, I have felt a strong draw to this slice of northern Spain. Its people, its landscapes, its food: something about this Celtic region makes it feel like home to me.

So, when Sara told me she’d be visiting her hometown of Gijón (Xixón in the Asturian language), I knew where I’d to go. It might not be the most interesting or beautiful city on this Iberian peninsula, but it is a place that I hold dear.

I splashed out on a hotel and didn’t hold back when ordering food. The sudden hunger to do everything I hadn’t been able to before brought me back to the post-pandemic period, when we were all scrambling to travel, celebrate, and live a little after so much time stuck indoors. I spent time with Sara and friends, drank cider even though I shouldn’t, and watched the sunset from my overpriced hotel room. I felt defiant, I felt good. I’d had my first taste of normality, but this was my first taste of freedom — and my first taste of a decent cachopo in a while…

Back to Work

16.04.25 — Madrid

Back to Work

16.04.25 — Madrid

As I began to regain strength in my knee, I was eventually able to ditch the crutches altogether. This was great news for my recovery progress, but terrible news for my guaranteed seat on the metro. I’d gotten quite used to this little luxury during my trips to and from the physiotherapy room.

These hospital trips were soon replaced by my commute to the office, as I was abruptly discharged from one day to the other. I told Fernando this over sushi one Tuesday evening, and then was rudely awoken by my alarm the following morning: my first day back at work.

Some would moan about going back —most of my fellow patients certainly did— but I was quite happy to be back. It was a bit painful at first, but I didn’t care, as the return to a routine and a sense of purpose did me wonders. I’d also really missed having creative challenges and, more than anything, the company of my colleagues. All this time left me with time to reflect on how lucky I am to work in such a varied job with such great people.

The best thing about all this was I was back to some normality just in time for spring. This meant I could enjoy a meal for Sara’s birthday, celebrate my own birthday, and even spend an hour or so on my feet at a gig for San Isidro just down the road from my house.

I was started to feel like me again.

Mareo

09.04.25 — Madrid

Mareo

09.04.25 — Madrid

When I fell off my bike, my knee wasn’t the only casualty. As I lay in the ambulance and listened to the sirens above, my worry moved from the pain in my leg to whether I’d lost anything during the fall. I saw I was missing a shoe, but the nurse assured me that it was with my backpack on the floor. I then checked my pockets in search of my wallet, keys, and phone.

The latter seemed to have fared pretty well, despite my refusal to ever use a protective case. The glass of its front and the back was fully intact. I thought that it’d made it through unscathed, until I noticed that half of one of the camera lenses was missing. Shit.

Later, as I sat awaiting the results of my x-ray, I began to nervously pick out the last tiny shards of glass from the broken lens until the whole camera module was exposed. I then checked which of the three cameras on my phone has broken and discovered that it was the 0.5x zoom lens.

My first instinct was to look to buy a new phone. For a while I’d been secretly waiting for an excuse to retire my iPhone 12, and this seemed like the perfect one. During the next few days at home, I busied myself looking at options, from refurbished iPhones to Androids.

But then I started taking photos with the broken camera. I discovered that the photos would come back blurry, way too high in contrast, and with an odd perspective. As I hobbled around in pain and on my crutches, the photos I took were dizzy and disorientated—just as I was. It all seemed very fitting, so I never did change phones.

These are some of the photos from that time.

This title of this post, ‘Mareo’, is a Spanish word meaning dizziness or vertigo. I think it sums up my experience well.

Beginning 2025

02.04.25 — Madrid

Beginning 2025

02.04.25 — Madrid

After a few days off for the holidays, my year began as the previous had ended: with daily sessions of physiotherapy. I swatched Pantone swatches to NASA-engineered machines which helped me gain muscle and flexibility in my flashy new titanium knee. As the weeks went by, I went from a wheelchair to a pair of crutches and then eventually down to a single crutch. These little improvements kept me powering on through the monotony and discomfort.

Something else which kept me afloat was the social aspect of physiotherapy. During my daily ambulance journeys I got talking to both drivers and fellow patients, one of whom was Fernando. As we were both admitted around the same time and had the same time slot, we’d often coincide in the ambulance or on the machines, which meant we wound up chatting a lot. His company turned a rather dreary daily routine into something much more appealing.

I was also lucky to enjoy the company of my dad, who came for a visit and to join me as I began to manage the odd trip out of my flat on my crutches — even if every little task seemed to take an eternity. My mum also flew back over, which was a lovely chance for us to actually enjoy some time together rather than her just having to act as my full-time carer.

As the weeks turned to months, the end was in sight for my recovery. I was managing to do more and more things independently, including hop down the stairs to the street for the odd special outing. I honestly think I nearly cried the first time I managed to take the rubbish out by myself, and not just because of the pain…

Spanish Christmas

06.01.25 — Madrid

Spanish Christmas

06.01.25 — Madrid

Whilst recovering from my knee surgery, I had plenty of visits from both near and far. My sister visited in December, kickstarted the festive period with an invitation from Erretres for the two of us to join the Christmas party. I was excited to see my sister when she arrived, pumped to get out of the house that evening, and then overjoyed to see my colleagues all together for the first time in months.

After the high of the party came some bad news: I wouldn’t be allowed to fly home for Christmas. As the panic of the possibility of spending Christmas alone began to hit, Sara swooped in to save the day. Because of her work schedule, she would also be in Madrid, so we came up with a plan to spend an alternative Christmas Day together at my place.

Sara showed up on Christmas Eve and we watched a cheesy festive film together before bedtime. The big day then began with a little surprise, as Sara presented me with a gift that she’d smuggled in, which made me glad that I’d included an extra of chocolate in my last online shopping order. That way, I made sure I could offer her something to unwrap, too.

What proceded was a relaxed and rather wholesome day. We started off by decorating gingerbread biscuits, then cooked a lunch which infused our two cultures, with Spanish prawns for starters and our best attempt at a British Christmas meal as our main. This was all accompanied by the dulcet tones of a playlist we’d created including English Christmas carols and Spanish villancicos. We ended the day in the only possible way: by falling asleep whilst watching yet another terrible Christmas movie.

After such a lovely Christmas, I was then confronted with my next pickle: how to spend the New Year. I still wasn’t allowed to leave Madrid, but Pedro came through with a lovely proposal, involving welcoming in 2025 with his partner, his mum, and the customary twelve grapes. This made for a very enjoyable evening, including a double celebration as we also made time to watch the London fireworks an hour before the Spanish countdown. As Pedro helped me hobble home on my crutches, however, I learned that they like to start the new year in Spain with a bang — quite literally. The firecrackers that people were throwing around the street nearly had me falling over and breaking my other bloody knee!

I like to think that I made the best of a bad situation during this Christmas period, as with many other moments during my accident and recovery process. I couldn’t have been so optimistic alone, though, and so I’d like to once again express my love and gratefulness to Sara, Pedro, and all my friends and family who accompanied me on the road to recovery. I missed being home, but our Spanish Christmas was truly special.