Tuesday, 9 December 2008

There are no wrinkles on a balloon

This was a conversation I once had with Bobby Davro when he chose to insult me for a laugh, but at my expense.

He was referring to my youthful looks, that's what I like to think anyway, by noticing I hardly had any wrinkles.  There is a payoff.  I can only say that the extra padding came in remarkably handy this week as I missed my footing on the stairs at home; thankfully my airbags inflated as I went into full frontal free fall, I must have resembled a flying tree frog, because I could feel the sense of freedom as the rush of wind rippled through my tendrils.  With my tooth (gap) healing nicely and the appearance of the wide mouth frog disappearing by the day, I have now morphed into the next stage of frog evolution, by taking to the air.  As I mentioned, the air bags did break my fall but not before I had crushed and decimated 'my left foot' (good title for a play) which failed to release itself in time from the free falling body that was about to trap it. This was Sunday night, I was stone cold sober but possibly under the influence of the pain killers and the anti-biotics.  I had to snake crawl my way back up to my bedroom to assess the damage.  I figured at least someone could find me safe in bed with my gangrenous left foot sticking out of the bed, therefore making diagnosis much easier.

I was in so much pain and decided that Bobby was quite correct as the balloon like stump on the end of my foot did not have one wrinkle visible through the blackened stretched skin.  As the toes were pointing west of my body it did cross my mind that it might be broken.  I telephoned the out of hours service, described the scene and a very sympathetic woman did comment it didn't seem to be my week... but her advice?  A & E.  On a Sunday night, you've got to be kidding me.  I telephoned to enquire how long the waiting time would be and would I receive special treatment as I was returning to use there services within the same week, and the receptionist, who clearly didn't acquire her customer service skills from The Ritz Hotel, informed me NO, and it was 5 hours and growing.  The thought of sitting amongst the  drunks and reprobates of Poole did little to entice me to join the party.  My decision?  To grimace and bear it, wait until the morning and if the foot was still attached, I would shower, wash my hair, make up, apply a heavy dose of perfume along with  the full set of acrylic nails minus two (see earlier post) and wend my way down to A & E.  Clearly the ink had hardly had time to dry from my records on Monday.

After establishing the waiting time was only two hours, I telephoned for a taxi to take me to 
A & E.  If you were there, I was the one sporting a rather attractive pink cashmere bed sock on the blackened foot and a boot on the other.  I did consider wearing a high heel on the good foot but I had a vision of an amusing scene from one of Peter Sellers comedic characters, in so much as the rise and fall on the stride of my six inch mis-matched shoe would announce my arrival, and that the noise of the heel on the hospital floor would draw too much attention to the unfashionable footwear, making jumping the queue nigh on impossible.

Thankfully, it is not broken although I have ripped the tendons and ligaments in my foot.  My foot has been a source of light relief and entertainment in between the plethora of dross daytime television shows, as I have watched its changing kaleidoscope of colours on the hour every hour.

To one of my blog followers Brian K who has just undergone surgery, you have my full sympathy.  I will shut up about my woes as they are transitory and minor by comparison...

Tomorrow is another day as they say and I intend to shake off this spell of  misfortune by being more upbeat and chirpy.  I am going to apply for another freelance arts gig.  The decision will be made in the New Year, but it could be a step forward if I am at least shortlisted, or better still selected.

There will be no more mention of my medical woes,  just the usual things, like cooking, writing and credit crunch war shopping, for there are clearly advertised bargains to be had if the companies stay in business long enough for delivery.
Foxi - over and out...

4 comments:

Brian Keaney said...

Poor Rosie! I think you're quite justified in going into detail about your woes. They sound grim indeed.It's hard to be fashionable having wildly unmatching feet, don't you find? I've been given something like a giant's espadrille to wear on my left foot. It's not especially attractive.

Foxi Rosie said...

Brian, do you reckon Jimmy Choo would do a nice little number in shoe size 18? Maybe between us we could order a pair.

Kristen In London said...

Oh no Rosie! This is devastating news, as I was planning to kidnap you and bring you to London to shop with me... this spell of bodily suffering must end!

Foxi Rosie said...

That sounds sooo cool Kristen... Let's make it a must for sometime in the New Year. Shopping and lunch, how civilised. Hopefully the foot will be up to it by then. If not I will make sure I bring my diesel driven mini foot scooter and I can give you a lift!!!!

And Brian, I have found DAMART do a fetching line of shoe in Size 18 with a tripple Z fitting! Page 50... Slight raise on the heel but moc croc... If you want the code number, let me know.