To those of you that don’t keep up with me on Twitter, I managed to put my back out on Saturday playing rugby. Well actually that probably gives be a little too much credit. I was about to play rugby as I only made it to part way in to minute number 3.
As I led on the ground in pain the one thing that went through my mind was “Mrs Geek is going to KILL me”.
It would be fair to say that there is mounting pressure for me to “reduce my exposure to rugby” as it is a large amount of time that I could (and I will concede maybe should) otherwise be spending with my family. So the thought of returning home broken the day before Maggie’s Baptism (I will post that separately) was not an appealing one. It was not helped by the fact that my team were beaten so badly that I am not sure that we managed even to come second.
I have therefore spent the last few days eating enough tablets to make me rattle and smelling like … well I know nowhere else that smells like it other than sports changing rooms. The overwhelming whiff of liniment.
Fast forward to Monday, I was told by my doctor that I should go to the worlds largest time sink … A&E (for the Americans out there that is the UK equivalent of the ER without the gun shot wounds).
So after an uncharacteristically short wait of about 2 hours, the doctor told me that the good news was that it was not broken … WTF !?! How was that even under consideration? And if it was, why did I not get a somewhat speedier treatment!
So I returned home with the same advice that I had self prescribed … it is simply a muscle pull, take Paracetamol and Ibruprofen and feel sorry for yourself (OK so I added the last bit).