Yesterday I re-posted a little teaser from September 2008. The teaser was:
• snowboarding (in garden)
• circus workshop
The answer is ……. my medical records!
In this and two other posts I’ll describe in
some massive detail how I’ve got this embarrassment in my notes. The teaser was simply a way of introducing these daft stories. Hopefully you’ll find them amusing in bits.
Today I describe Snowboarding in the Garden.
Part 2: Mattress is here.
[UPDATE: This story is too long. When I get a chance I’ll edit it quite severely. Apologies]
I wasn’t even snowboarding in the garden but was standing upright in our plastic sledge. If our garden was precipitous you would see easily how there might be a rather serious entry in my medical notes but there isn’t. We have a very gentle slope which is sufficient on crispy snow to slide slowly. These were the conditions in 2000 on my birthday.
The children and I were out and I was pulling them to get up some speed. Great fun. Laughter.
Then I had a shot but I decided to stand up, the sledge started sliding slowly and remained at this gentle pace until after about 10 yards I stepped out. Right foot first (up-slope leg) and followed immediately by my left (down-slope leg).
Perfect! Kids loved this. What could go wrong?
Well, firstly I went off to Tesco, came back and immediately went back outside for another shot.
I followed exactly the same routine as before sliding slowly down the slope. I stepped out – or rather I didn’t – my right foot (up-slope) was fine, planted on the snow but for some reason my left foot didn’t move.
You can imagine what is happening.
My right foot is firm on the snow but the rest of my body is still upright in the sledge. I know what is happening; I see it in ultra-slow-motion; I know the injury that’s coming. My right leg is straight but is now starting to bend inwards. Fuck! Ligaments going here. Painfully obvious. I saw it all until I over-balanced gently and fell forward onto the snow.
Aaagh! Oojah! Aaaaaagh!
It’ll soon be better said Mrs Carr. She knew from experience that I am a squealer. She’s seen me crossing Princes Street, suddenly hit the deck with a squeal, get up, hobble for a few seconds and then walk normally. My ankles are knackered basically.
“No! I’ve done my ligaments” as I pulled myself up on the frame of the kids’ swing. “Aaagh.”
I remember thinking, “I’ve torn my knee ligaments so why is my shoulder sore?”
Fuck, this was sore. Sorry! That should have been “Fuck, this was fucking sore”. Pain as I’ve never experienced pain before.
Somehow, eventually I got upstairs and back into the house.
“Hospital” said Mrs Carr. “No. They’ll only send me away with a crepe bandage and tell me to see my GP if it’s not better in a few weeks.” I ruled out going to the GP for the same reason.
Mid-day on my birthday – 51 – and I have to stand, can’t sit, nobody taking this too seriously including me. Eventually I gave up. I had to get the GP to come out and give me stronger pain-killers.
Two hours later the GP arrived, gave me painkillers but didn’t say what she thought was wrong with my shoulder. “Hospital for you”, she said, I’ll get you an ambulance” “ A taxi is fine” She won. An ambulance it was but there might be a delay since this wasn’t an emergency. I could live with this.
To speed things up once I reached hospital she phoned ahead so that an orthopaedic doctor would see me. Big mistake!
Shite! I can’t go into A&E dressed like this! Despite my injuries …ah! ..and despite the pain ….ah! … I struggled into more presentable clothes.
3 o’ clock passed and 4 o’clock and 5 and, thank fuck, here it is.
A quick – well slow – hobble into the ambulance and in no time I arrived at A&E, refused a wheelchair because I couldn’t bend my leg, booked in, was helped onto a trolley and was left in a ward of empty cubicles … other than mine obviously.
Another 2 hours passed before I was seen by anyone. The GP’s phone call had taken me out of the normal A&E queue and had me waiting for an orthopaedic doctor whom I’m sure left me waiting much longer than was needed because she was pissed off that the GP had gone direct to them. A quick glance and nothing said other than I’d go for X-ray which would be delayed because I had to be X-rayed in Resusc not because I was poorly but because I had to be X-rayed whilst on a trolley.
More time passed before I was moved to just outside Resusc. Then at 8pm I saw the other side of the NHS. The head nurse, equivalent to Charlie in the early series of Casualty, walked past me and said, “Do you know what you’ve done?” “No!” “Dislocated your shoulder”. Bloody hell. Simply by seeing how I was “carrying” my arm he had told me more than GP or orthopaedic doctor.
In less than 20 mins I was in recovery. He wheeled me into resusc, took X-rays, checked with the orthopaedic department that it was OK to go ahead and put the joint back, pulled in two young doctor and off they went.
The sleeping juice went in, I slipped gently towards a pain-free space but I was still aware of what was happening. One held the trolley, one held me while the other pulled like hell on my arm. Nothing happened other than the trolley moved.
“I think he needs a bit more (anaesthetic)”. I laughed to myself as I said to them, “Too fucking true!” but no words were formed or uttered.
I knew nothing of what happened until at 8.20 I was in recovery. No pain, shoulder obviously in place. Later an auxiliary came in and said to me that he had brought crutches for me. I looked at him as if to say, “How the fuck am I meant to use crutches (for my right knee) when my right arm is in a sling. He understood.
A taxi home at 22.30 brought my birthday almost to an end.
What a birthday!
What a plonker!
Snowboarding in the garden! There’s no fool …….
Part 2: The Mattress will be revealed tomorrow.