How not to go to the park

Saturday, 3 May 2014

Last weekend we decided to take The Spawn to the park.  This one is a 1.4mile walk each way, uphill homeward bound.

Everything was looking Idyllic; the skies were blue, the birds were cheeping, the sun was shining, the blossom danced in a gentle breeze and the bluebells nodded as we passed.  Even The Spawn were uncharacteristically behaving, if you ignore Thing One's usual need to pee al fresco as we pondered our way through the woodland.

Then ouch.

I neither fell, stumbled nor tripped.

I have 'weak ankles', there's a rather suspicious triangle of missing ligament in them, the ligament that is there is 'too stretchy'.  Throughout my life I've been on crutches more times then I can remember yet only once was a bone broken.  As a child it would be crutches and a pot leg, as I grew older it became crutches and a tubagrip followed by physiotherapy and these days it's a string of unspeakables followed by limping around for a week or two.  I was offered an operation to attempt to help them but in all honesty, it seemed far more debilitating with debilitating pain then it was worth, at the time.  I incidentally missed six weeks of my first year of high school, half my fourth year and half my fifth year through essentially, crap ankles.

The problem these days is that over the years I've become somewhat immune to the pain.  Of course it hurts, it bloody bastard hurts yet I'm now able to hobble onwards and get on with it so to speak, something which can exacerbate the injury.  I have a very warped judgement of pain there.  When I should be in enough pain not to walk at all on it, i'll plod on 'owing'.

It was a strange feeling, more nauseating at first then painful as I felt my ankle slip out of joint one side and then double whammy, it immediately went the other way too.  It's akin to a banana being split and tugged in opposing directions whilst the skin stays intact.  Sometimes, this will happen and if I spend a moment gathering my breath it will ease within the hour.  Other times it's frightfully buggered.  Like this time.

This isn't what you want when you're a 1.4mile walk away from home. Arse.

Once at the park I found a rock to sit on.  There were benches, yet people have the habit of sitting next to you if you plant yourself on a bench.  

So there I sat, ankle throbbing yet held together by my trusty Dr Martens boots as I watched The Spawn prance about in the sun around the park pondering how one was going to make it home.

I swallowed my pride.  I text The Brother, fully expecting him to be out.  He wasn't. Better still he agreed upon a rescue mission.  One he would later come to regret as upon parking at the top of my road he manages to scrape his new tyres losing a chunk out of one and scraping the hub caps something terrific.  He was not a happy bunny.  Think huge man (height and width) jumping up and down on the spot turning epic shades or red whilst changing the colour of the air with profanity.  His posh car is his baby.  His pride and joy.  I was awfully grateful for the rescue yet I must admit, I was finding it terribly hard not to laugh.  Oopsie.  I've never once proclaimed to be a good sister.

So that one fateful trip to the park has resulted in a hefty repair bill for The Brother and a week of being unable to walk and considerable pain for me.  Happy days.


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