Sunday, 13 September 2009

Ouch!

I was rushed to A&E on Friday afternoon. Well. I say "rushed" more hoiked. I was dropping Mac off to tea at his friend Billy's house and, because I've recently been struggling with the old image, was wearing ridiculously high heeled boots with a view to a) bolstering my self-image and b) whipping into the hospital where I work (every now and again) to say hello to the girls and boys and showing them that I have retained some of my old spark and verve whilst giving my child a fulfilling social life.

All was well, we'd taken the train which was a major excitement for my pride and joy and, although I was struggling with the terrain in my four inch heels, we were bounding along quite happily as we turned into Billy's road. I'm not quite sure what happened if I'm honest, all I remember is a sharp agonizing pain in my right ankle, the knowledge that my foot should not be pointing in that direction, the feel of cold hard concrete beneath my palms and cheek, gratitude that I was wearing jeans and the fact that Mac was screaming his head off which meant we were soon joined by half of the street.

Billy's dad Roger was tasked with taking me over to the hospital, which he did by half carrying me as he wasn't "forking out money for the car park" and assuring me that they "were brilliant" and would "get me sorted". He dumped me on a chair in A&E and approached the desk demanding that I "be seen to immediately" as my "distressed son was distressed at his mummy's accident and if a consultant wasn't summoned IMMEDIATELY then by Golly there would be Hell to pay". Kim and Kelly on reception were not remotely fazed by this blatant attempt at queue jumping (there were three gentleman already waiting along with a lolly pop lady and a woman on an electric scooter who was eating wine gums loudly) and gave him short shrift.

"Oh it's JO!" Kelly boomed once she'd caught sight of me and I was whizzed straight through to cubicles. "You have to show these people who is the boss!" Jim informed me as he watched me drape myself elegantly on the bed. I shushed him as politely as I could and told him that I worked here and so was being sort of fast tracked because of that. "NONSENSE!" he bellowed and moved my damaged leg before plonking himself down on the end of my bed. I felt bad enough being given preferential treatment but didn't want him to think that his boorish attitude and somehow helped me along.

By now my whole leg, encased in black leather up to the knee, was throbbing alarmingly and I could feel it swelling. Nurse Jacob arrived and attempted to remove the offending boot. "S'not happening" he said after tugging ineffectually for five minutes. "Am gonna have to cut it" he added.

He cut, my leg all but exploded out and then things went a bit hazy. Jim departed, then a tearstained Mac and pale looking David arrived (he wasn't worried by the way, he'd just taken note of the car parking fee per hour and spent five minutes rummaging in my bag for my staff pass), I was X-rayed, had a cup of tea brought to me by my manager who found the whole thing hilarious until I showed her my damaged boot. She then went off for a quick cry, she's obsessed with shoes and boots and has a collection to rival Paris Hilton's.

"It's not broken just badly sprained and you've buggered the knee ligament" said Dr Fisher as she discharged me "rest it, don't put any weight on it and ditch the bloody stupid boots" she added before striding off in her Dr Scholls.

So. This is me. Blogging whilst resting. Marooned on the sofa. Struggling to get to the loo (not that you need to know that) and in pain. David has been marvellous this weekend - he wasn't, he was moaning and complaining and being completely unreasonable about my injury until I cracked and told him he was unsympathetic and had a few self-pitying tears and then he suggested he ring his mother and "get her down for a few days". I then had a massive change of mind and told him he was doing a fab job and no, it didn't matter that Mac had biscuits for Sunday lunch because he couldn't cope with doing a roast and no darling, I'm fine, I'll just have an apple.

Bea's taking over tomorrow, Janey's nursemaiding on Tuesday and I've arranged for Dawn to do the school run. I've just sent Mac off to the kitchen to ask daddy to make me a cup of tea. Hope he doesn't forget the custard creams.

4 comments:

Domestic Goddesque said...

Ouch indeed. On the plus side, all that time alone with the interweb might net a few new pairs of boots;-)

Domestic Goddesque said...

Also meant to comment on your pretty new banner- very appropriate for thew change in weather....

aims said...

OMG! What hell! And ruined boots to boot.

Girl - I feel your pain. Been there - torn the tendon almost right off and was scheduled for surgery - opted for acupuncture instead - which worked btw.

Darling - take care. The more you move the longer it will take to heal.

dulwich divorcee said...

OMG, he cut your boot! You poor, poor thing. You have all my sympathies ....

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Nunhead, London, United Kingdom
I'm a mum of one, wife of one and owner to several dogs, a variety of breeds and sizes. I live in the up and coming area (or so they say) of Nunhead and have mad neighbours, strange friends and certifiable relatives. I shop locally, although I do defect to Sainsburys once a week - shoot me now local shopkeepers.