Wouldn’t it have been grand if it had happened whilst snatching a kitten from the path of a speeding train, or maybe free-climbing the Shard for a worthy charity, perhaps tackling some fiend who had just stolen a dear old ladies handbag and had sprinted of into the distance, or even during some extreme gardening? But I didn’t. I fractured my foot because I was under the impression there was only one step to go at the bottom of the stairs and there were two. Counting was never my strong point.
Apart from the obvious, “foot heading in a direction that quite frankly is not natural” another unfortunate issue was that I was wearing what I like to call my “lounge wear”. Others might call them (perhaps more accurately) “tatty old mismatching pyjamas”. Yes I am quite aware that it was 2.00pm, and at this time of day only true slovens and nightworkers are still so casually dressed. However it was a rain-stopped-play day and I had earlier, at an almost respectable time, changed out of my genuine PJ’s into my LW. Not certain though if I had brushed my hair.
I will save you the gory and dull details, I am sure your imagination will fill any gaps. Just in case you are struggling here are a few key words to help you along the way. Agony, attempting to get into car without passing out, leaning against a wall outside A&E like a one-legged sobbing stork whilst OH tried to find a wheelchair, being taken pity on by an ambulance driver who managed find a wheelchair and kindly took me to reception, waiting, triage, waiting, doctor, waiting, x-ray, waiting, prognosis, waiting, groovy boot and crutches allocation. Out with the golden, in with the storm trooper.
If like myself you are rather a curious creature, you will be wondering who else was in the waiting room. Luckily (yes irony) I had plenty of time to study them. There was a teenager wearing sports shorts and a blazer with a rugby induced ankle injury (far cooler than me obviously), a young woman with a broken finger who could still text at the speed of light, a workman with a broken arm and a moody wife, a farmer who had broken his wrist last month and hadn’t noticed, and a man in combats with a badly cut chin. My favourite fellow waitee however was a charming little girl who had stuffed toilet paper up her nose and couldn’t get it out again. Her reasoning was very sensible I thought, she had a stinky cold and was fed up with having to wipe it all the time. Almost two minutes of arrival she began to ask of everybody and anybody “why have we got to wait so long?” and was still doing so when I was wheeled off to the equipment cupboard. Hopefully, for the sake of all, she was soon whisked off to the nose vacuuming department.
Onto the actual damage, I have an avulsion fracture to the talus and navicular bone, possibly more problematical is that some of the tendons are also damaged. It appears that my injuries are very similar to those of our very own Torrington Tina, although she got there 5 weeks before I did. We have been comparing notes. I am not sure “great minds think alike” is applicable in this case. There will be no gardening for me until next year and then I must take it easy, “avoid uneven surfaces” might be a tricky one.
One last point, you will be very pleased to hear that I gave my business card to the doctor in the fracture clinic, seems like he needs a gardener. He knows of course that he will have to wait for a few weeks, but I told him it would be worth it!