On the 21st of July, 1998, I had a really bad head cold. I, however, went to my classes I was taking at the time anyway, because we were starting a new project. I decided to go home early, due to not being able to concentrate, and walked back to the train station. I saw the train coming over the hill in the distance, and knew I had enough time to make it onto the platform, validate my ticket and then get on the train. Anyway, somehow I managed to step wrong on the stairs, and landed at the foot of the stairs, doing myself a rather nasty injury. Today I stumbled across a diary that I kept in the days that followed, so I'm going to copy it out for your and my amusement.
Wednesday, 22nd July, 1998 (1st Day After Fall)
Had trouble sleeping last night. Basically because I have to sleep on my back. Anaesthetic has finally, unfortunately, worn off. Not only did my injured leg hurt this morning, but so did my other leg, which, thankfully, is only grazed and bruised. My right arm is also hurting, as is the right side of my chest, and the left side of my neck.
I was glad not to have to stay overnight in hospital. The doctor did 2 things to my leg. First he did (hopefully) soluble stitches in the laceration and then he stapled the wound closed. Now that I think of it, the stitches most probably are soluble. I didn't feel them going in, because of the anaesthetic and the nitrous oxide, which, for lack of a better word, was "wonderful" the wound was pretty deep, and I was lucky not to have damaged my patella tendon.
Getting up after sitting down is difficult, 'cos I'm not allowed to bend my leg. It's not like I can bend it anyway. The splint and the pain takes care of that. Answering the call of nature isn't exactly a simple affair either. I woke up at 5am this morning, and then I couldn't sleep for another hour, by which time the stereo alarm had gone off. I'd turned it down, of course. My watch kept beeping every hour, and then after finally getting back to sleep, it woke me up at 6:50am. I couldn't exactly move to turn it off, and I didn't know where it was anyway. Then I drifted off again.
I got up just before 9 this morning, I couldn't sleep anyway, by now moving my leg was painful and I couldn't get comfortable. No wonder my watch kept waking me up, it was on the crate next to my bed. I managed to get it out of my room, which I was happy about. I was way ahead of mum when she suggested I call one of the girls in my group to let them know what had happened. I said in my half fluish, half annoyed voice that I'd already thought of that. I couldn't find Gwen's number so I called Pauline and explained the situation, asking her if she could let lecturers know and collect notes for me until I came back.
I only left early yesterday because I've got the flu, all I wanted to do was get home. The train was coming, it was drizzling rain, and I was in too much of a hurry I guess. Next thing I know, I'm at the bottom of the stairs, in heaps of pain, and the ambulance is on its way.
A couple of Westrail people showed up, asking what had happened. Everybody's telling me not to move. The "fight" in me wants to just stand up and walk away. But the other half thinks. The first thing they tell you in first aid is not to move the casualty until the professionals arrive. So there I am, sitting in a puddle. A lucky place to fall into. The ambulance people turn up, and the female one gives me this inhaler which has something in it to help me relax, so she says. Well let's just say it worked quite quickly and suddenly I'm completely off my face while they are putting a splint under my leg and bandaging me, after cutting up my jeans and taking off my Doc Marten boot and destroying my sock. Oh well, not like I was actually attached to that sock, anyway.
They get me onto the stretcher, and there's a Westrail guy carrying my backpack and my umbrella, which lost its catch, seeing as it was open at the time. It was a bit blurry, though, seeing as I was sucking on the little inhaler thingy for all it was worth. (Hey, free drugs, why complain!) My original idea was to stay in bed yesterday morning, because I felt like complete shit. NOW I feel worse. It shows I should have a: left college 5 minutes earlier, or b: stayed home entirely.
While still at the station, someone gives me this industrial strength tissue, and I'm thinking "yay, now I can wipe my nose." They put me in the ambulance. No lights or siren, unfortunately. I wasn't dying or anything. We get to the hospital (Sir Charles Gairdner), and the ambulance guy is talking to me, trying to keep me alert. Fat chance, because I'm still whoring the inhaler like it's going out of fashion, and I'm practically in la-la land. I get wheeled in and they test my reflexes. I joke and say it tickles. About 5 different people come in and get my details. They ask if my mum knows where I am. I said she's been informed of the accident, but I'm not sure if she knows where I am. I get wheeled into a cubicle. I was thinking about making conversation with the person on the other side of the curtain, but I didn't.
A nurse comes in and takes my pulse, but didn't take my blood pressure. She helped me take off my jacket, my jumper and my smaller bag. Then she goes and comes back about 5 minutes later, asking me where my mum is from. I tell her that she's French, and the nurse says she has a "beautiful" accent.
Meanwhile, the inhaler thingy has run out, so I guess I sucked it dry. A nurse pops in now and then, to check if I'm in pain. Then the nurse who took my pulse returns and cuts open the bandage around my knee. She says it looks pretty nasty, and I'm straining to get a view. She tells me not to look, and I tell her I'm not afraid of blood.
(This following part wasn't in the diary, but I still remember it)
Soon enough a doctor looking type comes in and introduces himself as "Dave" in an English accent. He takes a look at my knee, and says that it looks nasty. A nurse comes in with a tray of medical type stuff, and Dr Dave rattled off what he was going to do, and then said he was going to put some anaesthetic into my injury. I nearly leapt off the bed when he LITERALLY put the anaesthetic right into the giant freakin' gash under my knee. He told the nurse to get the nitrous oxide. So there I was, lying back, being operated on, and inhaling nitrous to my little heart's content. That, on top of the medication from the inhaler in the ambulance made me forget where I was totally and had me so relaxed that Dr Dave had to keep asking me to straighten my knee up, because it kept rotating outwards. When he stapled me up, I couldn't feel a thing, but I could distinctly hear the stapler he was using, as it was squeaking. That was rather amusing, in hindsight.
Anyway, soon enough my mum and my now ex-housemate showed up, and about an hour or so later I was at home.
(And now from the diary)
It was kind of boring scenery, all I could see was the ceiling and these tacky baby blue curtains. You'd think they would get a more interesting colour!
Stay tuned for part 2! :)
