OK, they’re not all linked – it would be a hell of a cocktail if they were though.
My ankle saga continues apace, with me having spent 2 hours in A&E waiting for an X-Ray last night. My ex kindly pointed me towards a sports physio operating out of my local gym with the recommendation that “he won’t tell you just to rest it because he knows you won’t”. Sounded like exactly what I needed, I don’t do sitting still these days so active recuperation was required.
He spent half an hour asking questions about the injury, poking, prodding and palpating the ankle, making me stretch, hop, walk and otherwise look like an eedjit, and of course frowned and made lots of concerned grunts whenever I winced or nearly fell over. I’d been to the doc’s earlier in the week and she was pretty damn certain the ankle was just sprained rather than it being a stress fracture but he obviously wasn’t so sure. Seeing as the nature of the injury would determine the best course of action he packed me off to the infirmary with a letter in hand, asking for an X-Ray to rule out the possibility of a fracture or ‘bone pathology’ in general.
It’s actually a surprisingly short and pleasant ride out to Little France. In the back of my head it always seems to be in the arse-end of nowhere, stuck out somewhere near Edinburgh’s reservations and requiring a taxi ride at the best of times. However when I looked at the map it was more or less just over the back of Arthur’s Seat, no more than 20 mins cycle away (indeed it’s a mere 7km according to MapMyRun). There are a couple of steep hills en route but they’re compensated for by getting to fly down the other side, it’s all swings and roundabouts.
Anyway I got out there about half seven and took my seat, surrounded by blood-soaked builders, moaning mothers (“It’s taking too long”, “This seat’s no’ comfy”, “How come this chocolate bar’s all full of chocolate?”), knackered neds (“How wiz ah tae ken ah’d hurt masel’ if ah jumped aff ma roof?”) and other assorted accident-prone Edinburghers.
To be honest I don’t mind the waiting room, as long as I’m not in too much pain. If I’ve got a decent book and something to drink and nibble on it’s not really that different from being at home. Okay, there’s the super-sterile hospital smell, the screams of the dying/injured/impatient and the occasional pair of cops huckling in a bleedy, sweary malcontent, but apart from that it’s much the same 🙂
Eventually the nurse called my name and ushered me into the cubicle. She proceeded to undertake a watered-down version of the examination I’d undergone just a few hours previously – limited to the briefest of questions about the injury, a few prods and a couple of steps. So far so average. Then she told me, with barely a moment’s thought, that there was no fracture, the bone was fine and that the radiologist wouldn’t even allow an X-Ray on such an injury.
What? I skipped my weights session, cycled out here and waited for two hours, just for that?
She clocked the look of consternation on my face, thought this over for a second and decided to go and consult with her colleagues. Damn right she better consult, this was not a happy Cannonball. After a couple of minutes she returned – nope, it’s probably just a sprain, we can’t expose you to radiation just for that, it’s unlikely you have a fracture there.
Oh for fuck’s sake.
Then I remembered the letter from the physio. My god, it was as if it were signed by the Queen herself – all of a sudden an X-Ray is definitely the best course of action, after all we have to be sure and it’ll affect the course of treatment, etc, etc. Didn’t I just tell you that two or three times since I came in? Did you think I was lying? That I was there for some shits and giggles of a Wednesday evening?
So it was off to the X-Ray room, a few minutes of waiting, get it zapped, then back to the waiting room. Remarkably quickly I was called back through to look at the image – they’re all digital these days and it’s cool as all hell, razor-sharp pictures that you can zoom into! Cool toys! Thankfully it did actually appear to be all clear (don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t getting angry because I wanted a fracture), no immediate signs of any breaks, but the radiologist will be having a look himself over the next day or two to be sure.
So that was that, back on my bike and off up the road by ten o’clock, evening thoroughly wasted but my mind, partially at least, put to rest.
What were those other things? Oh yeah, nutrition and hallucinations…
It’s actually just a couple of blog posts via the supersexy ScienceBlogs network, not directly related to me unfortunately.
The first is on a pet topic of mine, the ridiculosity (yes it is a word, look it up in the Cannonball English Dictionary) of fad diets which concentrate on eliminating specific nutrients. It’s stupid, stupid, stupid, it’ll hurt you in the long term and it only serves to encourage today’s quick-win, no-effort mindset.
The other one’s about the link between serotonin, hallucinations and psychosis. I’ve been reading a lot on Neurotopia about the serotonin system recently so that, coupled with my prior predilection for mind-alteration, piqued my interest. It’s a fairly short post but can lead on to other intriguing reading if you so desire.
My next post will probably concern a temporary new hobby – water running. Watch this space…