There are directions appendages should not go. Even for me
Monday night, after battling my way home through the police protection for the Council (apparently everyone else's safety is of no fucking concern whatsoever) Other Housemate and I when climbing.
I tackled the bouldering wall - there was one bit that was defeating me last week and I was going to get it, damnit. And I did. OH coached me up it, I got to the high point, realised I was too wuss to try the traverse, climbed down a bit, jumped the last foot or so and ... completely dislocated my right ankle. On the crash mat. At no point was I more than five foot off the floor.
I am a GENIUS.
I got a glimpse as I went down - foot was turned right over the wrong way. OH was running before I'd actually hit the ground. If you're going to do this, mind you, the best place is the climbing wall. There's inevitably a herd of doctors/nurses/Mountain Rescuers about, four of who converged on me instantly while barking orders at everyone else.
Once the ambulance arrived and were convinced I hadn't damaged my neck and really, truly didn't need a backboard, they chopped up my trousers and socks and poor old trainers, and apparently everyone got a good view of my ankle bones. Except me. OH had me by the hair and was hissing 'Look at me, look at me' like the snake from the Jungle Book while going an interesting green colour. I feel this was probably a sensible decision on his part.
Ambulance guys did not like it. I also got through their entire gas & air cylinder and all the morphine they could give me before we got to the Royal and they didn't like that either. Registrar in A&E was a bit gleeful, as she apparently hadn't seen a one of those for a while. Nobody is sure how the hell I hadn't broken anything. Except my parents. My parents helpfully explained about how when I was learning to walk I had to sort out which directions my joints were meant to go in first. Everyone in earshot made a face.
So they patched me up (for values of patched that mean 'the plaster is what is holding her ankle together') plonked me in a bed and pumped antibiotics into me for four days. The ward staff were fabulous. The physios don't trust me as far as they can throw me and I'm not allowed to try and stand still with crutches in case I kill myself or someone else. The doctor in charge of me did not make clear how not-stable the whole thing was for the plaster techs and was a bit of a dick about it when I pulled him on it, but I'm willing to let it slide since he did then write on my notes in large letters 'COMPLETELY UNSTABLE DISLOCATION DO NOT REMOVE PLASTER WITHOUT STABILISING' and underlined it in red.
And now I'm attempting to work from home while keeping my leg up and doped to the eyeballs. It is deeply, deeply ridiculous. My housemates and friends are being complete stars. Even the ones who googled it. Don't google it. Really.
I tackled the bouldering wall - there was one bit that was defeating me last week and I was going to get it, damnit. And I did. OH coached me up it, I got to the high point, realised I was too wuss to try the traverse, climbed down a bit, jumped the last foot or so and ... completely dislocated my right ankle. On the crash mat. At no point was I more than five foot off the floor.
I am a GENIUS.
I got a glimpse as I went down - foot was turned right over the wrong way. OH was running before I'd actually hit the ground. If you're going to do this, mind you, the best place is the climbing wall. There's inevitably a herd of doctors/nurses/Mountain Rescuers about, four of who converged on me instantly while barking orders at everyone else.
Once the ambulance arrived and were convinced I hadn't damaged my neck and really, truly didn't need a backboard, they chopped up my trousers and socks and poor old trainers, and apparently everyone got a good view of my ankle bones. Except me. OH had me by the hair and was hissing 'Look at me, look at me' like the snake from the Jungle Book while going an interesting green colour. I feel this was probably a sensible decision on his part.
Ambulance guys did not like it. I also got through their entire gas & air cylinder and all the morphine they could give me before we got to the Royal and they didn't like that either. Registrar in A&E was a bit gleeful, as she apparently hadn't seen a one of those for a while. Nobody is sure how the hell I hadn't broken anything. Except my parents. My parents helpfully explained about how when I was learning to walk I had to sort out which directions my joints were meant to go in first. Everyone in earshot made a face.
So they patched me up (for values of patched that mean 'the plaster is what is holding her ankle together') plonked me in a bed and pumped antibiotics into me for four days. The ward staff were fabulous. The physios don't trust me as far as they can throw me and I'm not allowed to try and stand still with crutches in case I kill myself or someone else. The doctor in charge of me did not make clear how not-stable the whole thing was for the plaster techs and was a bit of a dick about it when I pulled him on it, but I'm willing to let it slide since he did then write on my notes in large letters 'COMPLETELY UNSTABLE DISLOCATION DO NOT REMOVE PLASTER WITHOUT STABILISING' and underlined it in red.
And now I'm attempting to work from home while keeping my leg up and doped to the eyeballs. It is deeply, deeply ridiculous. My housemates and friends are being complete stars. Even the ones who googled it. Don't google it. Really.