You may be wondering how this post will start; I hope I surprise you.
This is the story of how I, clumsy and embarrassing Emilia, fractured my right fibula on the fourth day of February, and I’ll begin my story of unfortunate events with the passage of time; Time that continues on its eternal quest to make me feel more like an imbecile in a world of geniuses.
January began with me journeying back to Cyprus, and February began the same- I was back on my island. That was until 4 days later, when my world came crashing down. Well, to be more precise, my entire body came crashing down to the pavement. Baaaaasically, I thought skateboarding at night was a good idea. I collided with a stone on the tarmac and flew a little bit in the air, before landing haphazardly on my foot. So, most of February saw me walking on crutches in a cast. Poor old February didn’t see me in a very flattering light, but oh well. So much for rekindling a new hobby.
March began the same too: cast, crutches, TV. Until one special day arrived to cheer me up: March 16th.
This was the joyous day my cast was to come off. Oh happy day. I was nervous, naturally. I mean, a nurse was going to saw off wrapped plaster around my leg, so I had every reason to be afraid for my life. Then… they called my name. It drifted through the hallway with a sinister echo. Like I was a naughty child being sent to the Headmaster’s office. The only problem was, it wasn’t my real name they shouted, it was “Amelia”- Sure, they tried but they failed. They need to work on pronunciation skills in this Hospital. Also, this place smelt funny, and brought back some memories. Memories of broken arms, tonsilitis and drips- not good ones, even if it was the place I was born.
The nurse led me to the room. It had a name, but I’ve forgotten now. She was smiling wide at me… I didn’t smile back, I can’t remember why. Ahhh yes. I do, her smile was the creepiest ever. She looked almost happy that I was there. Anyway, I walked(well, almost) into this small room and the nice lady told me to sit down, all the while asking me if I’d ever had any experience with casts. I replied saying twice, as I’d already broken both of my arms as a kid. For some reason, I felt almost proud, proud that I knew what strange sensations were about to come.
Then it began. She turned the ungodly machine on. It raced and roared like a Harley. It’s ghastly teeth came closer and closer and closer until it bit right through the plaster cast. Straight through the material like a knife in a wedding cake. It sliced through my sister’s artwork of “I broke my ankle skating”, thank goodness. That was so embarrassing.
Now this was the funny part. I hope you’ll smile. The saw tickled my leg so much that I found it unbearable. I had to put my hand over my mouth to stifle the giggling, but it only made it worse. My mother looked at me from the other side of the room with raised eyebrows(and my mother has beautiful Delevingne eyebrows, so I knew she was confused), but the nurse took no notice of me. Here I was, an 18-year-old gap year student, preparing for Uni and a successful future career and I was laughing my head off over a tickle. Honestly, you need to break a bone to understand me.
Rambling aside, long story short, the plaster cast was off. OFF! I was free, liberated and able to walk again. Oh hold up. Let’s not get too carried away now. “Freedom” wasn’t the correct term. I swiveled round and hopped off the bed and began to faff around like an epileptic octopus. I looked and felt ridiculous. But what was worse was the unbelievable pain of looking at my hairy gorilla leg. Seriously, not the look a girl in her youth wants to adopt. It was hideous, like a prop from Jurassic Park. Along with my bruised calf and impressive scar I was the full part.
I sat alone in the waiting room while my mum moved the car, all the while paranoid of my Planet of the Apes leg. Nobody looked at me, thank goodness. They were busy watching “Lorraine” on ITV. Thank you ITV, you saved me. The pain, although bad, wasn’t unbearable, yet I was afraid to put my foot down(no pun intended) for fear of feeling tremors unknown to me, so I kept my leg elevated for 45 minutes.
Next destination: Doctor Cheng’s office. He was pleasant, and was impressed with my story, which I thought was rather strange coming from a doctor. I was told to steer clear of contact sports for a while and hopefully I could have those blasted metal pins and plates out of my system in a year.
During April, Physiotherapy exercises began and my gosh, they’re freaking painful in the first few weeks. Week 2 of ankle rebooting left me lying on my bedroom floor as I attempted the ‘soleus stretch’ for the fourth time in an hour. I failed miserably. It soon got better, and before I knew it, I could perform each stretch with my eyes closed. April also marked the month I went back to work, on Easter Monday. Happy, happy days.
Ahh, we finally made it to this glorious month of May. My foot has been doing remarkably well and I’ve been raking the money in like nobody’s business. Gap Year-wise, it’s going just as planned. I’m excited for Summer travels to California and alarming Airport Security wherever I go. Yep, I’m learning things on this little broken journey so far and understanding the power of that one fibula bone in my right ankle. With the metal plate stuck to it.
You may now call me: The Girl with the Broken Ankle, and I may just answer. Just please, don’t call me Amelia.
Nostalgia's Calendar. 