It was a Thursday. I could never get the hang of Thursdays. Joni was about to have her breakfast served, I was running partially late-ish for work, and Connie was just rousing out of bed, and I hadn’t fed Frank. Frank was hungry, anxious, and when he is like this he can be a bit jumpy, and a bit unpredictable. I had left Joni’s milk in the front room, so I wandered in to grab it. Frank was nicely snoozing on the floor in front of the couch. I saw that Joni’s milk was on the far side of the couch, and I lifted my right leg over to go and get it and Frank jumped up into my leg-swing and got a facefull of my foot.
I basically volleyed my dog in the face.
The result of this was excruciating pain. I doubled over, swearing loudly, and shouted for Connie. “I’m hurt! I’ve hurt myself!” I shout, to her bemusement. Much to her credit, when saw me hobbled over on the floor basically crying in pain her reaction was to help me up, lie me down, and then take over dealing with Joni.
I popped ice onto it and was convinced it was broken. I’d not felt foot pain like it. After a quick call to NHS 111 they said it was best to head into a drop-in centre to get it checked.
We gathered together Joni and her things and headed to the Keswick hospital, and arrived to a small queue of other injured people. It is a quaint hospital with a few triage rooms and a raft of Dyson Air Multipliers (see below). They inspected the foot, X-rayed it, and then said it wasn’t broken, but instead it was a bruised bone.
Once you tell people it is a bruised bone they’ll laugh it off – a “bruise” is the weakest of all the injuries, one that simply looks bad but isn’t really that troublesome. In reality, a bone bruise is a mere inch away from a true fracture. I’d bruised one or more of my “cuneiform” bones, which form a threesome of triangle bones on the top bridge of your foot. A bruise is the swelling a fluid released from trauma into the spaces in between, which creates the pain.
And I am in pain. I have been gifted crutches and spent my birthday (yep, my birthday) hobbling about the house. I can put weight on it quite easily, but it’s the lateral movement side-to-side and the vertical movement up and down that causes agony. I can also drive fine too, as the slight weight on my heel helps with the pain.
This lack of looking like I can’t walk means people think I can walk very easily. It doesn’t detract from the fact that I am pretty silly to have been injured this way.
The experience of A&E for the second time in a year (Joni had a tumble into a set of drawers last year) and the third member of my family to be X-rayed in three weeks (Joni had a chest X-ray a few weeks back during an overnight hospital stay, and my dad also had one recently) doesn’t help the fact that I still feel like a plonk when telling folk I hurt my foot when I stepped over the dog.
Frank’s fine, by the way.
Note – I noticed that every single room in the hospital had a Dyson Air Multiplier, which costs around £300 a shot compared to a usual £15 fan. I asked Twitter and they replied with a simple “it’s easier to keep clean” and a Google suggests that loads of other people have asked similar questions.