On 9th December I broke my ankle!
I was sober!
No I was not climbing stairs, a ladder or anything going upwards.
I was on my front doorstep, six inches, maximum of concrete. Stretching up to fix our new, security light, adjusting the timing, when I lost my balance, fell backwards and heard the snap of my bone! Aarggghhhh!
I have often wondered what I would sound like in a terrified scream, I had hoped it would be similar to those ladies of our silver screen, being hunted by vampires, chased by demons or followed by weirdos. Unfortunately not!
I have the delightful scream of a maddened warthog... I grunt....loudly!
It's so unladylike.
At the time, however, I can honestly say femininity was the last thing I cared about. I glanced down, positive I would see a bone protruding through flesh, but no, just a big fat swollen leg that matched the grunting scream. My son assured me I'd probably torn the ligaments and I took the proffered pain killers and crawled upstairs to bed, where I lay miserably for two hours recalling the snap echoing around our cul-de-sac.
How did nobody else hear it? Or my disgruntled woes? Because it was Christmas, that's why!
Now, me, I'm a mad supporter of Christmas and this year was amazed with my organisational skills, and thank the heavens I was, because for the next three weeks I had to sit, shut my mouth, apart from saying "thank you" as all preparations were done. I am not, I discovered, very good at sitting and keeping my mouth shut. I am, I've learned, very good at eating, a natural act preventing me from speaking, and I have a seriously brilliant gift for putting on weight.
It's now six weeks since the dreaded "break night" and I return to hospital on Thursday to learn whether or not the bone has to be secured with a pin or not.....I pray, not because if I have to sit around any longer I will be first in line for the audition of Jabba the Hut because I know there's not a hope in hell I'll get the screaming lady part!
