After sleeping on it, in the vain hope that it would be miraculously cured overnight, I decided that there was nothing for it but to head to A & E to get it looked at. It has gone a whole lot more purple since I took yesterday's photo. Whipps Cross was surprisingly and pleasingly efficient, and within two hours it was confirmed that that I have indeed broken it. I wasn't really paying attention, so I can't remember if it is the first metatarsal or one of the next bones along, but whichever, I have cracked it and thus now have a new subject upon which to rant. For the next six to eight weeks. My advice to you is to log-off now, delete the bookmark, and come back in mid-September.
I am so annoyed, I cannot begin to tell you. And it is all my own stupid fault as well. It's not as if Mrs L had left the ironing board out, or one of the kids had left a car on the floor. No, it was just me misjudging a running-leap from the garden. Arse. And the timing really sucks. Tomorrow Mrs L leaves for a weeks choir tour to Cornwall, and I am on my own with three kids. The doctor's advice was to ensure my foot was up as much as possible. Somehow I can't see that happening. I mean FFS, this could not have happened at a worse time. I'm not sure I can even drive. Walking around the patch is going to be challenging to say the least. I predict a lot of garden-watching. And swearing.
Next week I have to attend the fracture clinic. Presumably this is when they issue me with a large boot thing to wear for a month. Whoopee. Just what I wanted as autumn kicks off. Why couldn't I have bust my left thumb or something, or got a hang-nail? We are very very far from being amused.
So, what now? Well, less dusting for a start....
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