Let me tell you that, in case any of you doubt it, preparing a book launch is a lot of work on many levels. First, the venue choice: fancy or less fancy (the fancy ones charge what an indie author will probably not make even after five years of sales). Second, the negotiation with the venue chosen to be a local café (“But how many people will there be? How do you mean that you don’t know?”). Third, the logistic challenges – bringing and displaying thirty books of about 1.7 kg each and fitting it all into a place that does not close or pause just because you and your audience are there. Last but absolutely not least: the content (How long should the presentation be? How to avoid boring the audience? What bit to choose for the reading?). And finally, one’s own look – what to wear, how to set the hair, and so on. I worked hard until the very last day, when I took to my hairdresser for a haircut and colour. This is where this story starts.

My hairdresser is one of those perfectionistic hair artists. After an over-four-hours sit, my hair looked magnificent. Yet as I was about to leave, there happened a strange quirk of fate. Suddenly, mobility reduced in my left foot and the leg felt half-numb. As they say, you must suffer for beauty, but maybe within limits. Anyway, I tried not to panic and walked back to the train station to get home. Surely this was just a matter of little time. Yet, upon arrival at home, her majesty the leg did not deign to react in any way. Frantic online research revealed that I could be facing a sudden palsy of the peroneal nerve in the foot. Why a perfectly healthy nerve would suddenly pull such a trick was shrouded in mystery. However, as luck would have it, I was alone that evening and had to be my own cheerleader. I went to bed counting sheep, books, pages, characters and hoping for the best.

The next day, which was the day of the book launch, the foot felt the same. I faced the event with altered clothing, altered footwear and a somewhat altered gait. At one stage during the preparations, I even fell flat in the middle of the café, but luckily suffered no damage. I could walk and stand, which was important for both presentation and acoustics. And I had great help from my husband. So, I tried to focus on what I wanted to say and read and not to think too much of the rest.

Lesson Number One: never succumb to external circumstances.

Next, of course I contacted my doctor in the hope of getting an explanation of my problem. She had nothing much to say, except again this hypothesis of the sleeping nerve. Yet she sent me to the physiotherapist, although I was not fully clear how that would work out. On the other hand, in Denmark physiotherapists are often ascribed nearly miraculous powers. Alas! The physiotherapist had no control either over the rebellious nerve. The doctor referred me to a neurologist. Yet, making a quick neurologist appointment in Copenhagen turned out to be like a magic stunt in the stories by H.C. Andersen. At the various practices I called, the secretaries plaintively said: “But we don’t have times all the way until May”. Eventually, though, I was lucky to get a time at a private hospital within the next three weeks.

Lesson Number Two: never give up, and even more so if you are an indie author.

Meanwhile, it turned out that my doctor had been coaxing the local hospital to lend me some walking aids for what she called my “drop foot”. This was welcome as my walking had become a bit hazardous. Now suddenly, she informed me that the hospital agreed to give me a special boot to help me relax my foot. I was to show up at emergencies soonest. Having done what she said, I had a check‑in with a very friendly young and red‑haired male nurse. He was quite amazed at my story. “Did you say this happened to you at the hairdresser’s?” he marveled. Goodness me, the hairdresser bit was really having a far‑reaching effect.

Already my doctor, after my second visit to her, joked I should be careful with those hairdressing visits. It began to dawn upon me why women of a certain age in Denmark often had short hair and no colour. I always suspected that these women knew something that I did not. But maybe I was finally about to find out. For now, I had to wait until an emergency doctor saw me to authorize the famous boot.

During the next two hours, I witnessed the normal stress of an emergency section. A lady had fallen on some stairs and harmed her shoulder. A very young boy arriving with his parents had a bleeding head; his mother kept wiping with a handkerchief. People of all ages were came in on stretchers. Doctors raced through their shifts with a phone in one hand and a food box in another. Paramedics grouped around the coffee machine. Finally, I was ushered in by a young female doctor with gentle brown eyes. She looked at my foot with awe, touched it gently and tried to flex it. “So you say you suffered this injury during a visit to a hairdresser?” she offered.

By then, I firmly decided that if any of those people wished to know the name of the hairdressing salon, I would guard this information with my life. So, I stoically shut my mouth and let her do her thing. Yet even before she was done, in ran a nursing aid with a light grey plastic boot of very large dimensions. It brought back memories of the televised man’s landing on the Moon. Humbled by the sight of this amazing contraption, I asked how to use it. “Oh, you see, here are very clear instructions with pictures,” said the nursing aid. “You just follow them and you will be fine,” the doctor added sweetly. I was not sure how wearing that boot was going to improve my situation. But, as my grandmother always said, “when they give you something new for free, you don’t say no”. I took the boot and went home. It has not been so great to wear, yet I am grateful for the help and let us see what happens next.

In any case, I had and still have the great memories of my very warm and friendly book launch to fall back on and revel in. After all, a foot is a foot and what is in it?

Lesson Number Three: no matter what, a book launch is a totally unique experience.

(To be continued)