At my most recent appointment at the orthopaedic clinic, the consultant took a look at the latest X-rays and we were both optimistic.

Me: “Yeah, the elbow’s fine; I’ve been commuting by bike most days, and I think the extension might even be a little better since last time I saw you.”

Consultant: “I’m pleased with how it’s come on. If you look here, you can see the joint has healed very well, and the break in the shaft of the humerus looks to be successfully bridging.”

“Damn, that shit is pimping,” I could hear him thinking. “Boo yah.”

He was so pleased, in fact, that he decided it was time to think about taking some of the metalwork out; namely, the stuff in my lower arm. (Just to recap: to gain access to the broken joint during the operation, they broke off the end of the ulna and then fastened it back together with a couple of pins and some wire.) The waiting list for this sort of surgery is only a month or two long, and he told me to expect a letter confirming a date for the operation in November.

We shook hands and I cycled back up to work.

On the train home that night, my elbow was actually starting to play up a little. It felt a bit tender where it brushed up against my sleeve and so I took off my jacket and gently checked around the metalwork in the ulna, noticable as a few hard bumps and protrusions under the skin.

And then, I could have sworn I felt the pin move inside my arm: just a tiny, millimetric slide, but a movement nonetheless.

A massive, body-wide shudder pulsated from my stomach outwards and I had an interesting few seconds contemplating the ramifications of having been able to move a foreign body embedded within my arm. With hindsight, this is probably a good thing; it means that the pin is no longer necessary to hold the ulna together. At the time though, it just freaked the shit out of me. I think the doctor is right: it’s time for this particular pin to come out!