By Saturday evening my foot was starting to feel really uncomfortable so I planned to go to the walk in centre at the hospital the following day. The first thing Mr M said to me the following morning was “can we get your accounts done this morning” who said romance was dead! So, we did my accounts and I made something to eat and asked for a lift to the hospital.
Sitting in the waiting room I felt like a complete fraud, there were people bleeding, vomiting and generally looking sick, I, on the other hand just had a swollen foot.
When I went in to see the nurse he examined my foot and said it was unusual to have pain in two places. He was quite surprised that I hadn’t had it checked out for 10 days and sent me off for x-rays. When I was called back the nurse told me that I had in fact broken my ankle and not sprained it. Obviously I was shocked and my first thought was the conference the following day.
When I explained that in fact I had injured my foot in Spain, the nurse quickly got a doctor to check for DVT. I had no idea at the time that when you break a bone a blood clot is immediately formed around the break while the body rushes blood to the area to start the healing process.
My foot was put into a three quarter plaster cast, bandaged and I was given crutches. Picture Skippy meets Bambi and you won’t be too far wrong! I really had no idea how to use them as I hobbled out of the hospital.