Unfortunately I do not bear good news.
I have broken my ankle. In three places. THREE.
How? I hear you ask. Well...
It was Friday 28th December. Four of us from work had finally managed to get together and decided to go to Basildon (Yes, Bas Vegas) for the night before we all departed again for uni etc. Now I'd never actually been to the clubs in Basildon, due to the many horror stories I'd heard, but I wasn't apprehensive. I've been in Norwich on a Saturday night, and Norwich locals are somewhat... Grotty. So I got dressed up, I bought a new skirt and put on the wedge shoe boots that have become my signature piece of most outfits.
George (he is very clever, studying Maths at the University of Bath) rounded us up from various parts of Thurrock and took us back to his place for pre drinks. It was all going so well, Georga (not a spelling mistake, Georga is a wonderful lady who will be studying Paramedic Science next year) and I were drinking Cosmopolitans and Dave (a completely mad guy who is doing History at Manchester Met) was putting on various embarrassing dance tunes from the past. We got to the wonderful place that is the Festival Leisure Park around 11ish and went in. Now I appeared to be rather giggly by this point. Georga and I decided that we needed the loo. So after we paid to get into Jumping Jacks (at least I thought it was Jumping Jacks), I started down the stairs, very sensibly in my rather high heels. All was well until I actually walked in to the toilets, not knowing there was a slope. One second I was looking at the cubicles, the next I was looking at the floor.
Georga and I were in hysterics. She went to the loo and left me on the floor, as you do. I tried to get up but for some reason my left foot wasn't really co-operating with me. As I got up, the pressure on my left ankle was to much to take. So I hopped to the loo. And then had to be practically carried out of the toilets by Georga.
I sat down on a stool and George put some ice on my ankle, which was beginning to swell pretty rapidly. I couldn't even feel the ice, which was probably a sign that I should not have any more to drink. But of course because of the pain I was taking swigs of any drink put in front of me.
Yes, I know it's a hideous picture. But I have no shame. And it is on Twitter anyway.Now seeing as by this time it was only about 11:30 I was determined not to give up yet. So I had a little dance with my shoes off until I could take it no longer. And the next thing I remember is being carried to a taxi. And then ending up in a wheelchair in Basildon A&E. Poor old George had come with me and waited with me for about six hours whilst I had various X-Rays and examinations. At some point I took this rather lovely photograph of my swollen foot:
Ew. Isn't it gross?
After about four or five hours of waiting, a doctor came round and told me I had 'signs of a break' and that I would need a cast. Now I didn't really understand what that meant. Did it mean the x-rays were inconclusive? Later on I found out that was not the case. I had managed to break my ankle, falling off my shoes, in three places. When I was shown the x-ray I was sick (to be fair to me, it turned out I also had tonsillitis and adenoiditis. I'm generally okay with medical things. I mean, I love Casualty and ER.).
So I had this lump of a thing put on my leg to start off with:
It was sooo heavy.
And now I have this wonderfully pretty thing:
So now I am stuck at home for at least another four weeks whilst this thing heals. And everyone else is back in Norwich having fun :(
So that was my Christmas and New Year pretty much. Besides working the busiest NEXT sale of my life and also being sick on New Years. At midnight, 1:30am, 2:30am, 3am, 4am and 5am. Wonderful.
I hope your holidays were better than mine.
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