Post by Nick BrotherRabbit on Jan 23, 2013 6:47:55 GMT
Regrettably last Wednesday night I broke my leg. A fractured transverse fracture of the tibia, which unfortunately takes longer to heal than a standard fracture as this type is horizontal across the bone and is less exposed to the blood supply. The possibility of 3 months in plaster. 
It was a football tackle, certainly not a malicious one of Roy Keane proportions and I was eager to assure the culprit that it was 'just one of those things'. I have often thought that in some respects it must be worse to be the breaker than the broken, having to suffer no small amount of guilt that you have put someone through immense pain and anguish whilst ensuring that they lose their dignity and are unable to walk, wash or dress themselves for the next few months (I hope he is not reading this
. I remember a not-so-brave friend of mine breaking his leg in an equally non-malicious tackle and cursing, screaming and effing and jeffing to the offender about his challenge in-between copious amounts of gas and air on the pitch. To be fair it was a bad break but I made the decision then that if ever I was the victim, I would try to exercise more restraint. ;D
Thankfully it was my first time in an ambulance. An attractive paramedic called Kate and a male plumper with a bedside manner which needed work. I did not recall his name. My poor luck continued as Kate took the driving seat and plumper got in the back with me to ask questions like, “on a scale of 1 to 10 how would you rate your pain?”...at this point I was completely wank**ed on gas and air. I felt like it was 6 o'clock in the morning and I had just left Flamingos with Robert BR. The gas has the opposite effect of helium on your voice and secretly I was thinking, “How's about 11 out of 10 on your pain scale fat bast**d? Now go and drive the ambulance so I can sing some Barry White to Kate!”.
I have been forced to temporarily move back home with a full leg cast and the boredom is beginning to set in. After the initial panic that ensued I'm sure my mum has secretly been enjoying fussing round me, although sometimes I get the impression she thinks I have lost the use of my arms too. I had to politely remind her that I can wash behind my own ears! Dad has relaxed in the knowledge of the inevitable and is relieved that No.2 son is probably a better patient than No.1 son would be.
Robert BR has popped in now and again, never to see me, but to eat dad's cooking and get mum to do his washing. Whilst he is 100% reliable in a crisis, anything short of this and you can't help but think it is a burden to him. He makes fleeting visits, whilst entertaining himself with comments like, “Are you going to have one of those skinny little legs?...that will be funny as f**k.”
Brother Rabbit still managed to practice last night...it's going well, we have a few new numbers but are hoping for a few more before the North Euston. I'm still struggling to get up and around but my family and friends are looking after me and hopefully every day till then it will get a little easier! At least my ears will be gleaming by then! ;D
It was a football tackle, certainly not a malicious one of Roy Keane proportions and I was eager to assure the culprit that it was 'just one of those things'. I have often thought that in some respects it must be worse to be the breaker than the broken, having to suffer no small amount of guilt that you have put someone through immense pain and anguish whilst ensuring that they lose their dignity and are unable to walk, wash or dress themselves for the next few months (I hope he is not reading this
. I remember a not-so-brave friend of mine breaking his leg in an equally non-malicious tackle and cursing, screaming and effing and jeffing to the offender about his challenge in-between copious amounts of gas and air on the pitch. To be fair it was a bad break but I made the decision then that if ever I was the victim, I would try to exercise more restraint. ;DThankfully it was my first time in an ambulance. An attractive paramedic called Kate and a male plumper with a bedside manner which needed work. I did not recall his name. My poor luck continued as Kate took the driving seat and plumper got in the back with me to ask questions like, “on a scale of 1 to 10 how would you rate your pain?”...at this point I was completely wank**ed on gas and air. I felt like it was 6 o'clock in the morning and I had just left Flamingos with Robert BR. The gas has the opposite effect of helium on your voice and secretly I was thinking, “How's about 11 out of 10 on your pain scale fat bast**d? Now go and drive the ambulance so I can sing some Barry White to Kate!”.
I have been forced to temporarily move back home with a full leg cast and the boredom is beginning to set in. After the initial panic that ensued I'm sure my mum has secretly been enjoying fussing round me, although sometimes I get the impression she thinks I have lost the use of my arms too. I had to politely remind her that I can wash behind my own ears! Dad has relaxed in the knowledge of the inevitable and is relieved that No.2 son is probably a better patient than No.1 son would be.
Robert BR has popped in now and again, never to see me, but to eat dad's cooking and get mum to do his washing. Whilst he is 100% reliable in a crisis, anything short of this and you can't help but think it is a burden to him. He makes fleeting visits, whilst entertaining himself with comments like, “Are you going to have one of those skinny little legs?...that will be funny as f**k.”
Brother Rabbit still managed to practice last night...it's going well, we have a few new numbers but are hoping for a few more before the North Euston. I'm still struggling to get up and around but my family and friends are looking after me and hopefully every day till then it will get a little easier! At least my ears will be gleaming by then! ;D