So eight days into living in London and already I have been to the A&E department… Start as you mean to go on Channon… I seem to spend far too much time in hospitals!
I arrived in London after a long (8 hours and 32ish minutes) coach journey from the depths of Cornwall to Victoria. I got off the bus, and waited until the very end for my suitcase (due to it being at the back of the luggage hold as I was the first to get on). My 4G had run out after just three days on my phone (EE you are my favourite…) and so I didn’t even have google maps to keep me company. I followed the rush of the crowd to the Underground (this story does get better I promise and I’m sure you want to know why I’m wounded? Good, I’m glad you are concerned for my health!). I was minding my own business when I slipped (cue the dramatic music) and hurt my ANKLE. DUN DUN DUHH. Not only did I fall in a puddle but I also turned into a tripping hazard for the many people following me. Fantastic!
I limped all the way back to my room, which just for the record included one tube change and five stops. I called my Mum; she shared no sympathy for me and told me in her usual words to “man up”.
Then on Monday morning I woke up to a slightly black looking, swollen ankle. I started my ten minute trek (probably a slight over exaggeration) to uni followed by the doctors. Of which she said, “you need an x-Ray”. Other than the fact that the hospital was a thirty-five minute walk away or three changes on the tube! Anyway I went for the tube option as the Doctor did highly recommend that I didn’t walk. The underground is supposed to be faster and involve less walking, although I’m not convinced, as to get to the tube you have to walk basically the same distance to your destination but underground. Rant about the tubes now over. The two women who sat next to me had one headphone each and were full on raving to the Vamps, dressed in neon tops and braided hair. They reminded me of Sandra and Sandy from Googlebox – so as you can imagine they were hilarious.
I made it to the hospital with a suspected broken ankle, waited in the A&E queue for about three hours after the receptionist had raised an eyebrow to both my postcode and chosen place of study, pfft, I’m a Cornish country-bumpkin at heart. I had my x-Ray after they x-rayed the wrong girl thinking it was me. Trustworthy eh? Only to be told that I had just sprained my ankle and the only way of fixing it was to be on complete “foot up above your heart” rest and “ice it for fifteen minutes every hour” – not possible when you are student and can’t afford ice-cubes.
The overall hospital experience was a joy. There was an old man who was insisting that he didn’t have to queue because he was old so in the end everyone mutually agreed to let him see the nurse first (to get rid of him). Another man strolled in wearing his pyjamas and when asked why, he replied with “because I’m a banana in pyjamas” – alright then? One young lad had dropped a brick on his finger, but his girlfriend was annoyed because she was going to have to do the dishes, what is love now-a-days? Then there was the elderly lady, who had no teeth and was dedicated to the colour pink, but she was extremely sweet and insisted on telling everyone about her seven cats.
So this extremely long story concludes with a sprained ankle and a slightly over-dramatic self, ten out of ten for effort Chan.
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