Thursday, 28 January 2016

Skating On Thin Ice















My son uttered those words that every parent dreads the other day, "I quite fancy going ice skating".

Maybe not every parent dreads them, but I do!

About 10 years ago I decided to go ice skating, as a birthday treat. Hubby and I set off for the rink, looking forward to a refreshing skate, followed by a nice pub lunch. It was not to be.

As a child, I went roller skating every Saturday night and I became a fairly confident skater. I'd often venture into Birmingham with friends and ice skate at the Silver Blades ice rink. I'm not sure if it's still there. So many have closed down.

My memories of confident skating lulled me into a false sense of security that 25 years later I would still be Jane Torvill (in my head). We ventured onto the ice and fear took over. I persevered and clung onto the side until I felt safe to let go. Eventually, I let go and did a few 'Bambi' steps across the ice. Slow and steady was my plan. I felt quite pleased and stopped to gather myself. Happy to set off for round 2 I went to put my foot forward and the stop bit of it (not sure if there is a technical term for it) had wedged itself in the ice. All I remember is my feet leaving the ice and my body going horizontal in mid-air. My only thought was, "Save the face!" I put my arms out to lessen the impact. Big mistake. As I landed I lay on the ice and felt like I wasn't there. I was almost passing out. Hubby rushed over, along with the few people who were on the ice. As I was helped up I was aware my arm was just limp. As it turned out, I had dislocated my shoulder.

Hubby took me to the nearest hospital in Chester. There seemed to be thousands of speed bumps on the way there. I felt every one.

Spending your birthday in hospital is not fun, especially when you are in agony. I ended up having 6 months of physio and it has created a weakness in my shoulder now, due to tendons being damaged as the shoulder was dislocated.

So you see, the thought of going ice skating brings back bad memories. As much as I don't want to pass my fears onto my son, I also don't want him to see me hurt myself.

Should I take some ice skating lessons and get back on the horse/ice? Should I never mention ice skating again and hope my son doesn't either? It's a tricky one.

Any suggestions would be welcome.

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