Last Friday I slipped down the stairs at Central station and sprained my ankle. Of course I didn’t know that at the time, in fact it didn’t even really hurt. [Yes I’d had some post work drinkies, stop judging me!]. On Saturday I woke up, and with the alcohol worn off, I realised I had done some serious damage to my ankle and I was in pain.
Off I went to the doctors.
Note to self: Next time I hurt myself come up with a better story. Maybe some kind of extreme sport, or something involving a shark.
Doctor: “How did you hurt your ankle?”
Me: “I fell down some stairs at the train station.”
Doctor: “When?”
Me: “Friday night”
Doctor: “Had you been drinking?”
Me: “I’d had a few. But it’s not the first time I’ve hurt my ankle so maybe I just aggravated an old injury?!”
Doctor: “How did you hurt it the first time?”
Me: “In a mosh pit at a music festival.”
Doctor: “I see.”
[Stop judging me!]
The doctor ordered me to go get crutches, to stay off my foot, ice, rest, elevation. And to go get an x-ray first thing Monday morning, just to be sure I hadn’t managed to chip a bone during my dramatic fall.
The x-ray on Monday revealed that I wasn’t actually broken, just badly damaged.
Back at the doctors, I got told that my ankle was still severely swollen (yes I can see that) and that I should continue to rest and elevate. And that I should also book an appointment to see a physio.
The doctor gave me a certificate for the whole week. I think she felt sorry for me because I have to travel 1.5 hours to Chatswood. WINNER!
The physio told me I had damaged two of the ligaments in my foot (apparently there are 3). And I had category 2 damage (on a scale of 1 to 3). After a lovely massage to loosen up my muscles and a few ankle strengthening exercises I felt heaps better. On a side note, do all physios have to be charasmatic and charming? Is it part of the job description?
By Tuesday I was just getting into the swing of being on sick leave. I had programmed all the shows I wanted to watch into the Foxtel tv planner. I had built a nice little stash of food within easy reach. I was living “the life”. Then work called and burst my little bubble of happiness. Sick leave really isn’t what it use to be. Conference calls and being sent work via email. It’s worse than being at work.
Today I’m hobbling around the house without crutches. My ankle is starting to feel alot better and I have very little pain. Thank goodness. I might even go to work tomorrow.
This week has been a kick in the face reminder that I live alone. It’s not until you are sick that you truly realise how much living alone can suck. When you live alone and you are sick there is no one to complain to and no one to go get you food from the kitchen so that you don’t have to leave the comfort of the couch. There is no one to run errands for you and to drive you to the doctors. All I wanted was a little sympathy and someone to bring me some soup so I could sit and eat it while watching tv. For the record don’t even bother trying to carry soup anywhere while on crutches. It’s a receipe for disaster.
