As the entire world has asked me what I’ve done with my ankle and automatically assumed it was a biking injury, I will lament my woes here for the entire world to see the extent of my clumsiness.
So one fateful Friday I needed to go rectify one of my more stupid moments, where I managed to totally forget the PIN number to the company card I have – I’m talking about a total mind blank here – so I popped to the bank.
Now usually I’d be on my bike, as I was working from the office all day, but for reasons of product collections and delivery, providence decided that I’d be motorised for the day. As it turns out this was a good move!
The bank in question has a large forecourt (mainly flat) and is elevated, with about 10 steps up to the door and a disabled ramp, zig-zagging, up to the same door, past the ubiquitous cash machine; This ATM was my focus.
Up the steps with my usual aplomb, performed technical wizardry with the technology as ever, regained the use of the cash card as the machine reported that it had indeed done as requested and the “PIN Unlocked”.
Trotted back down the steps, and started across the flat forecourt and disaster hit – I ‘cockled’ over on my right ankle; heard a sickening ‘crack’ and was viciously pulled to the ground by the usually non capricious Gravity.
Fearing the worst, I picked myself up and limped to the car…
Now at this point there wasn’t much beyond quite a sore feeling, so I travelled to my next appointment to pick up some kit, whereupon I met some more steps – I hobbled up them [painful] and I hobbled back down them [more painful]. There was also someone’s child there who told me I should go to hospital, so I did.
Bradford Royal was busy, there was around 6-8 people queuing for attention at the reception, and about 20-30 sat waiting in the seating area.
After the usual game of 20 questions, I asked for some pain killers, but “I’m not medically qualified to give you any – sorry” was the response.
So I endured what was about an hour, attempting to sit on plastic, bench style seats, with an ankle growing in both pain and girth. The swelling was, at this point, getting impressive, causing my shoe to become quite tight, and, upon removing said shoe, gained comments from a casual observer that “that’s broke, that”.
Assuming that meant she thought I’d broken my ankle – I must admit that I did too.
Finally Lisa popped her head out of her assigned cubicle and called my name, much hopping and hurting ensued until I was safely ensconced on the bed in the cubicle; which as it turns out is a little doorway on to what looked like a treatment area.
Lisa gave me drugs… I offered her a position on my Christmas card list as a reward.
A quick drive to the torture of the X-ray until [I was twisted in to some painful contortions], and then the longest wait on ‘minors’ whist they appeared to d nothing.
Finally after a cursory glance at the aforementioned X-rays I was bundled out of the treatment room in minors to wait for the attentions of someone who soon handed me a pair of crutches, and was thereafter summarily dismissed.
Not even a comment as to what I have managed to do to myself…
So now I have to perform R.I.C.E. – Rest, Ice [until the swelling goes down], Compression and Elevation, for some weeks.
No cycling through the best few weeks of the summer for me then