Friday, December 09, 2005

Where did you get those SHOES?!

Where did you get those SHOES?!

"Just pop up there"

I look at the large table - which in practical terms may as well be as large as Alice table when she's drunk the 'Drink Me' bottle and shrunk for all the likelihood I have of getting on it - and I know that there is going to be no popping going on. Long, labourious climbing, yes. Popping, certainly not.

Once I've scaled the feat of the x-ray table it's time to get out the beach ball that once upon a time was my right ankle.

"Oooo, it's swollen isn't it?"

I nod and don't know whether to feel pleased or worried that the beach ball, six days after impact, is big enough for radiographers to comment on its size.

Then comes the twisting turning bit in order to get the beach ball ready for its close up which hurts through a combination of the fact that my foot does not want to bend in any direction and my, not inconsiderable, ineptitude. If I can get my head around such things as The Waste Land, genetic engineering and the off side rule then it remains that I cannot get my head around being given directions on where to move my body. My brain refuses to process them, and even if the instructions do get as far as reaching the brain, those synapses of mine resolutely refuse to pass the message on to the corresponding body part. Thus it took five minutes for the radiographer to maneovure me - almost forcibly - into the right position. And if the fact that, at the reception desk, it took me a good sixty seconds to work out what my occupation was (I hadn't had enough to drink to instantly come up with 'writer' a la the Evil Eye) didn't point to the fact that I'm a bit simple, the inability to move my limbs as instructed did.

Close ups taken, x-rays in folder, I was instructed to pop (translate: climb) down. Just as I was attempting to put my right pump back on (which is difficult when its on the floor and you're doing a complicated one legged dance) the radiographer came over to me.

"Are they [indicating my pumps] from Office?"

Sienna would have been proud.

NB: The beach ball is still a beach ball, only now it's supposed to feel the benefit of industrial strength painkillers and crutches for the next few weeks.

1 comment:

Nik said...

The question is, where is the bar? ;)