Shortly before 11:00 am on the 10th March, 2009, I set out to meet Yolande for lunch. The sun was shining, the air was hot and humid - it seemed like any other day. There was no hint of the terrible fate which was to befall me just minutes later...
I raised my brow, damp with perspiration, and was greeted by the sight of a double decker bus, braking to a halt at the bus stop, just metres away. I instintively broke out into a run, not wanting to be left behind. In a moment of panic, noticing the path was blocked by a flow of people alighting from the bus, I made the split-second decision to cut across the playground to the left. I picked up speed but as my right foot made contact with the playground surface, hosting an inconspicuous layer of damp moss, it gave way beneath me before heading sharply skyward. As my body rotated obtusely on an invisible horizontal axis, my right elbow slammed down at speed onto the hard, unforgiving surface below.
I raised my head from the ground but could only watch as the bus set off without me. "The die is cast!" shouted the driver from the window as he pulled away into the distance. (OK, that didn't happen, but it makes the story more dramatic.) The bus waits for no man. Especially the number 99 bus, apparently, which this bus just so happened to be, the number proudly displayed on its back. The bus I take, however, is the number 242. The irony served only to rub salt into this freshest of wounds.
My first thought, as I dragged myself from the canvas, was whether anyone had seen this most ungraceful of stunts. It appeared I was safe. Either no one had noticed, or they were pretending not to notice so they didn't have to come to my aid. Great, I could retain my dignity. In an attempt to look casual and unaffected, I took my phone from my pocket and typed an imaginary text as I meandered towards the bus shelter and propped myself against a post.
As the day passed, the joint grew stiffer, and the pain more and more severe, until it needed the other arm to support it, and even a small jolt was enough to send a searing, spasm-inducing pain through my arm. After Yolande had finished work, I gave up being a brave little soldier, and submitted to a trip to the hospital like I was told.
The result: a suspicious fracture to the right elbow, confirmed a week later in a subsequent check up, a medical certificate entitling me to 3 days off (from what?), a rudimentary sling and some painkillers.
That'll teach me!
I was instructed to look suitably miserable for this photo.
My poorly arm, unfortunately, also looks rather camp.
