Yesterday I revealed that my medical records linked snowboarding (in garden), mattress and a circus workshop and I described my snowboarding accident.
For those who haven’t read yesterday’s post and can’t be bothered to do so let me summarise very, very briefly. On my birthday in 2000 I attempted to snowboard in our back garden and I was successful twice, I think it was, but on my third attempt I managed, somehow, to dislocate my right shoulder and tear ligaments in my right knee. There then followed a very long description of how I passed the next 10 hours or so.
Today I move on to the second item in the list, a mattress, and, you’ll be glad to hear this is significantly shorter. Not short! Just shorter!
Eleven days after snowboarding to A&E, my arm was still in a sling and I was wearing a big clunky brace on my knee to prevent it flexing. I think I must have been feeling like a useless so-so – having to be waited upon is fine but quite soon the urge to be useful becomes overwhelming.
I went upstairs somehow and I noticed that the duvet cover was rucked. No problem to me. A couple of minutes and this will be sorted.
Closer inspection showed that our elder child had been climbing inside the cover: she was prone to do this and each time she did I got very angry because the sorting of the subsequent mess was a major hassle. Still no problem.
Ten minutes later the job was done. Yeah! I’m useful.
But wait, the mattress wasn’t quite in its proper position.
Anger took over.
I grabbed the mattress handles and pulled.
The mattress didn’t move but my shoulder did!
Aaaaaaagh! Squeal time again.
There was no doubt this time. I knew my shoulder was out again but there was a difference. Eleven days before, the neutral position for my arm was with my forearm across my stomach - much less ample than it is now – but now neutral was with my arm clamped to my side.
At least I had learned a lesson from the first accident: don’t wait for an ambulance. Unfortunately the second lesson had passed me by. Instead of phoning for a taxi I called a cousin who came round within a few minutes.
Brilliant. Soon be in hospital.
Out we went. Just nip in the car and we’ll be off.
What car did I see parked at the door. A Nissan fucking Micra. A tiny wee car that, I’m sure, has many positive attributes, but having space to accommodate injured old me wasn’t one of them.
There was no way I could fit in. Sit in and try to swing my leg round …. No! Put my leg in first and try to squeeze the rest of my body into the seat …. No!
Now I learned the second lesson. TAXI!!!!
Twenty minutes I was inside A&E and the same Charlie nurse was in charge - his real name was Calum. I was at the end of a long queue and had to stand because sitting was too sore.
This had the makings of a long painful night!
Time passed slowly, every movement a cruel stab when …. relief … the joint popped in on its own.
Still couldn’t go home though I had to be questioned by a doctor about my first injury. How did it happen? What way did you fall? Where was your arm? I had no idea. I could tell him in micro-detail about my leg but this he wasn’t interested in. The dislocation was totally blind to me.
A dose of strong painkillers later and my cousin and I were in another taxi.
Tomorrow Part 3: The Circus Workshop