To Hospital

I may be, officially, the clumsiest person ever.  Last night I tripped while walking down the street in flipflops and twisted my right knee so badly that I could barely walk.  I thought that it would just get better - I've had weak knees for years and am always hurting them but they always seem to recover fairly quickly - but when I woke up this morning I couldn't put any weight on my right leg at all.  I called my GP's practice to see what I should do, and they told me to go to to A&E.  (That's the emergency room, for all you Americans out there.)  So Jon and I limped over to hospital* and waited.  And waited.  And waited.  Obviously, a bad knee put me at the very bottom of the triage list - but I did get seen eventually by a very nice doctor who hurt me very much by poking and prodding and testing my knee.  The diagnosis?  An acutely strained quadricep.  I didn't realize this, but it turns out your quads go down your thighs and then sort of down around your kneecap - that's the bit that I strained.

MendMeShop

So I'm on crutches, ice, and painkillers for the next few days, and I have to say farewell to my plan of going dancing on Friday night.  Boh.

But the best part of the whole experience?  It.  Was.  Free.  Not once was I asked for an insurance card or number, not once was I asked to pay for anything in any way.  I love the NHS.

Second-best part of the experience: Jon.  He came with me to A&E and has been taking care of me all afternoon.  Thank you Jon!

*In England, you don't go to the hospital. You go to hospital.  I don't know why.