It wasn’t quite how I’d planned to spend the morning, but wee-small-hour worries unsettled me and I simply had to resolve them.
Back in time then, to New Years Eve, more than two months ago, when I stupidly stepped on the hem of my skirt whilst hurrying back up this flight of (very hard) stairs and fell heavily on my right knee. The two bottles of wine I was carrying were unharmed, but since that night, I have hobbled about from time to time because whatever I did to my knee was (still) incredibly painful from time to time. Regular readers might recall how I had further knee troubles when in Miami compounding the issue somewhat.
Since then I have been “getting better”. Well, that’s what I told myself. Except that it still wasn’t right and I was wondering if I should seek professional help.
(Yes, I know, it’s more than two months ago…about time, I hear you say)
Fast forward to around 2.43am this morning, when I awoke with a horrible pain in my right calf. My mind was working overdrive and, in exactly the same way as it’s impossible to go on holiday until you’ve checked that yes, you really did turn off the gas, I just had to get my suspicions checked out. You see I’ve been reading about causes of lower leg pain and since this one was a new development and seemingly nothing to do with my knee – I wasn’t moving about, after all – three letters sprang to mind. D V and T.
Which is how I came to be admiring the blossom in the garden of our local Minor Injuries and Illness unit this morning. Three hours of expert care, detailed questioning and careful diagnosis. First things first: measurements and and an examination of my leg indicated that it was unlikely to be the deep vein thrombosis I feared and as I grabbed my coat and bag to leave, I realised that Sister Pauline was not going to let me off quite so lightly. After all, she had identified considerable crepitus in the joint and wanted to investigate what was happening. (new word #1)
An X ray revealed nothing sinister and thankfully, no damage to my tibial tuberosity (what? new words #2 and #3!) Armed with a recommendation to consult a physiotherapist for further treatment, my apologies for being a nuisance were met with a wave of Pauline’s hand.
The National Health Service. What would we do without it?