Part 6: Hopping through the hospital

My dad always says he doesn't like hospitals. I always replied with the response, "Who does." Well then, Dad. You are sincerely forgiven. I take all back. Its official. I now HATE hospitals. However, I do think there are some  strange people who actually enjoy being there. (or they are just faking those smiles!)

Yesterday, it was my first appointment for the doctor to 'deliver the verdict'. Strangely, I was looking forward to it. All the excitement of getting out in the fresh air, going in a car and going to new places in the hospital where I had never been before. Yes, it sounds lame but when you have been slowly disappearing deeper and deeper into the land of the sofa cushions, the light of day is hugely appreciated. Anyway, on arrival I had to walk down to the fracture clinic.  Walk? Had I mentioned that I couldn't walk? So..... I hopped. Gracefully, I hopped down the corridors to the clinic. Using the word 'graceful' is already making me feel better about the whole experience. What on earth must I have looked like? Arriving at the clinic, sweating and aching, I felt like I had jumped straight out of 'Lord of the Rings' and toiled on the terrible journey to Mordor. The only difference was that instead of 3 hobbit companions, I had Nick and 2 useless crutches. As I was on my way, a man who was probably about the same age as me and with a similar injury, hopped right on past me like a rabbit straight from Watership Down. I hope and pray that he has had his injury for longer and I have got his speed, agility and sheer hopping power to look forward in the future! (I'm not holding my breath though!) I think he was showing off.
Being in the fracture clinic was not the most positive experience of my life. It was so busy and the staff looked like it was just a bit too much for them. My name was called and I , once again, gracefully hopped to the room which was the furthest away in the clinic. The results were no as I hoped for and as a result I was a little bit teary. I came out with a thousand pieces of paper in my bag that I then had to somehow get them out of my bag, hand to different people, hold on to crutches and stand on one leg all at the same. If I'd have needed to break wind, it might have just finished me off!
Waiting for my new pot to be put on seemed like an eternity. The lovely man that did it was very sympathetic. Poor guy didn't really have a choice as all I was doing was blubbing. Miserably, I lay on the bed whilst he put my new pink pot on. As I looked at it, I noticed something crusty on my top. I think it was gravy from my tea the night before. (It was too much of a strain to put clean clothes on; I thought these might have another days worth) So picture the sight: a woman laying on a bed with one trouser leg up, revealing hairy legs that have suddenly sprouted underneath a pot, mascara and snot down her face and gravy down her top. Mmmmm. Tramps R Us springs to mind. No wonder they took pity on me and wheeled me around the rest of the hospital for all the other things I needed to do!
Arriving at home, I felt a bit deflated. To make matters worse, by much beloved gerbil, Leroy, died last night. By the time that this happened,  I was feeling incredibly sorry for myself. Life felt like a perfect tragedy. However, when I looked at him, I saw that he had died on his back, chewing on his favourite piece of wood not long after eating a grape that was nearly as big as his head. What a way to go!