9. Twist and Shout

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So, this happened.

I do realise it’s somewhat unconventional to start a blog with a picture, much less a picture of myself with hair everywhere looking like a Broadmoor patient posing for the newspaper. In my defence at this point I had had a shedload of morphine.

Allow me to take you to the start of this saga. Last Friday Night. Not just a chart topping Katy Perry hit, but also the day when Ben suggested putting the table tennis table, at this point stored in the garage, back up in the lounge. Some could therefore say, it was Ben’s fault.

Quick whizz over to Monday night. Stuart challenges Ben to a game of table tennis, and promptly beats him. Stu challenges me to a game of table tennis, and promptly beats me. We both feel a rematch would be wise. We were wrong.

After some frankly brilliant table tennis-ing from the both of us, the game reached 18-10 to me. A somewhat unassailable lead I think you’ll agree. Then, Stu used the dirty tactic of hitting the ball beyond me to win the next point. As I span back round some crazy bone magic happened. I looked down at my knee, only to find my left kneecap was roughly 10cm left of where it should have been. As I fell to the floor I screamed; not from the pain but from the horrible sight of the thing.

It was all a bit of a rush and a crush but next thing I knew Stu was running over to me, took one look at it and promptly declared it as a dislocated knee. He was right, but he did look away very quickly. Apparently (and I don’t really remember it) the first words out of my mouth were ‘Ambulance!’ which just shows my logical head in a crisis. My next memory is everyone stood over me while Ben took photos, in his words. ‘for the blog’.

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Thanks mate. Thanks a bunch.

This was then followed by roughly 20 minutes of me wishing the ambulance station was much closer. Turns out the paramedics did a 45 minute journey in 20, which was bloody impressive. They gave me a painkiller in a little green whistle which I inhaled, one which Katie has delighted in reminding me is one which they give to pregnant women, before loading me onto a stretcher. Katie was also delighted to tell me that the whistle painkiller looked like I was sucking on a giant tampon. Because of the pain in my knee when they moved me, I decided to take lots of breaths on the whistle, leading to a kazoo like sound in the room and my brain becoming addled by drugs.

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Whistle. Stretcher. Stretcher. Whistle.

We then got into the ambulance (we being Katie and myself joined by Graham and Devon the paramedics). At this point, due to the two shots of morphine very kindly injected into my system I started chatting absolute rubbish. I can confess that this was my first descent into the dark world of drugs, and not just because I know my grandparents will probably read this, but also it is the truth. So, this may have been the reason that I was so susceptible, but long story short I rather insensitively told the paramedic that when my grandma had morphine she thought everyone was trying to kill her. I thought this was innocent but apparently it came across as me suggesting he would kill me. Not meant, but this is why drugs are bad.

Anyway we arrived at the hospital without too much further insulting, I was put onto a bed. This probably took much longer but again, drugs. Eventually I was given the fabled gas and air which turned out to be lots of fun and the doctor grabbed hold of my leg. Crunch moment. Somewhat literally. At this point Katie had been locked out by the nurses (unintentionally) and I’m the only one who remembers it. As far as my brain knows, the doctor pretty much just straightened my leg and bam, that was it. I don’t want to disparage his medical degree and 7 years of studying but it really did seem that simple.

And there it was, I was fixed. Sort of. This was Monday night; I did have an interview for a job on Wednesday. I walked out of the hospital, refusing crutches, which was an error because once the drugs wore off it did start to smart a bit. We made it home though (I remember little) and I ended up back on a chair at Stu and Sue’s;

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I then got a call from the hospital saying they’d forgotten to take out the thing in my hand. Unfortunately by this point I’d taken it out myself, which the doctor did sound a little worried about, but hey, if you can’t trust a drug fuelled 21 year old who’s just had his knee dislocated to remove a needle in his vein, who can you trust?

Upshot is; I’m still in the brace, I’m almost down to one crutch and I got the job! It did create a sympathy vote which I shall utilise more often. Unfortunately Stu is claiming a draw/abandonment so my return to the table tennis table is a certainty to claim back my honour, dignity and hopefully avoid any further knee disasters.

Recently there’s been a bit of furore around the dangers of schoolboy rugby and concussion, see here http://www.bbc.com/news/uk-scotland-35715866. I shall say only this; I played rugby 4 times a week for 7 years and the worst I suffered was a bloody nose. On the other hand, I’ve played Table Tennis about 10 times and now have a dislocated knee. The defence rests, m’lud.

Alex Odlin won’t demand get-well gifts, he merely suggests that you follow your heart. If your heart is wicked and won’t send gifts, you can make up for it by reading his blog from the start at post number 1. The Masterplan

 

P.S. I know some people may want to see what it really looks like when a kneecap is out of place, so this video below shows a fairly gruesome angle. Watch at your peril.

Seriously, its horrible so don’t watch it while you’re eating.

Are you sure? Alright you’ve come this far.

 

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