Down in the Dumps

I'm afraid I'm not the happiest, smiliest bean ever, so please bear with me while I have a little woe is me rant.  Or not.  Skip it if you like, but don't say I didn't warn you.  Results night I was walking down the stairs at home to answer the door when my ankle gave in and I slid down the rest of the stairs on it, landing in a small heap at the bottom.  Sadly nothing stronger than water passed my lips and I was having a quiet night in, not celebrating like a rock star falling off the table I was dancing on.  One of the good things about being from my University town, is that when my housemates were running around trying to decide who could drive my car (as none of them have one) or whether they should call an ambulance, whilst trying to fight me and RICE my ankle while I just wanted to cry and lop my foot off because it hurt too much and could they please stop touching it with the cold solid thing, I could call Mummy and Daddy bean to drive me to the Walk in Centre because I broke a bit of myself.  3 hours later I emerge with a PIL on foot and ankle injuries, a copy of my X-Ray (batted my eyelids sweetly at the Dr), a sprained ankle and a shiny pair of crutches.

It's been over a week now and I'm still on crutches.  People tend to fall into two categories, those that think I'm being lazy and for goodness sakes it's just a sprain, and those that have also badly sprained their ankle in the past and cheerfully tell me a sprain is worse than a break and is there anything they can do for me.  All I know is if I take 6 steps without crutches my ankle will ache for the rest of the day, or if I try flex my foot, like to do stairs, it aches, or if I rest it on something, it aches, and that it is still swollen.  Still.  Stupid ankle.  My lovely Mr came down and put it in a tubigrip for me this weekend, which is helping, although I nearly kicked him when he put it on it hurt that much.  It's helping so much I would be down to just one crutch except that last night I managed to put my hand on an electric hob on max and am sporting a rather painful burnt palm now.  Crutches are blooming hard work, especially because all the exercise I do normally is lower body not upper.  Everything aches.  It's laughable really; before I wasn't sleeping because I was a stressy-head over exam results.  I was really looking forward to a full nights sleep when the results came out and it turned out I didn't need to worry.  Now I can't sleep because my ankle has perfected this dull, nagging, persistent ache that pain killers aren't touching.  Argh!  I went back to the WIC at the weekend and they said to stay off it for another 2 weeks.  That means my Winter Ball on crutches, and my first week on SSU on the Respiratory Ward on crutches.  Brilliant, just perfect.  Should I mention this is all on top of the inner ear infection I already have that the GP said was viral and I just had to ride out?

Placement was pants, utter pants.  I had such a good placement last time and this was just awful.  It started badly when I asked my partner to give me a lift in because I can't drive at the moment, and they asked me to walk what would normally be 30 minutes to meet them so they could drive a really convoluted way, instead of the direct route which goes straight past my house.  I had explained why I needed the lift and when I told them the direct route they got really defensive and said since I was asking the favour I should be nicer to them.  They then were so paranoid that we would be late they arrived 10 minutes early to pick me up and we arrived 40 minutes early.  I was with 2 GPs.  One completely ignored me and didn't involve me at all.  The other was the nice one that I had last time only this time the questions he asked me I hadn't a clue about (diagnosing Paget's from the clues of bilateral hearing aids and hip pain, and spotting CREST) and he just made me feel like an idiot for not knowing them.  My attempt at taking blood didn't work as the patient's vein disappeared when he straightened his arm out, and only once I'd tried did the patient say "Ah yes, the hospital always has trouble taking my blood".  My ankle was killing me after that day as the GP was full of come over here and have a look at this boy's spots/man's cyst/lack of an inguinal hernia/letter that I'm holding in my hand/etc.

Finally, the forces have been in the spot light a lot recently, with Remembrance Sunday, Military Wives Choir and Frontline Medicine recently.  Being completely and utterly selfish and probably just a big bag of silly girly hormones again, but I'm finding it really hard to be supportive for Mr.  My heart bursts with pride and love for him, but I don't know as I'm ever going to be strong enough to be left behind, waiting for him to come home safe.  The first of his intake from Sandhurst was killed on tour recently and it's made it all hit home.  I keep beating myself up about it because as sad as I get and for all my doubt in my own strength, it's not about me, it's about him, and I shouldn't be so.... pathetic.  Hundreds of women do it, there's no reason why I shouldn't be able to.   I just don't want to have to try.  I was watching the choir programme and they were saying that they had chosen this life and so that's how they get through it, but I didn't chose this, I fell in love with a guy I met in a club.  I need to man up, stop dwelling on it and deal with things as and when they arise.  I need to take my own advice, that it's not about me, it's about Mr.  And maybe one day I will.

In happier news, I passed my clinical competencies in IM injections and musculoskeletal exams with excellents, and the GP passed me on cardiovascular exam competency.
Hopefully I'll be happier next time,
Hop-a-long