A trip to the Minor Injuries Unit at Guy’s Hospital this week, after whacking my little toe hard on Littleboy 2’s highchair. Although The Doctor insisted that I was highly unlikely to have broken it, two weeks later (and possibly spurred on by an episode of House, in which an undiagnosed broken toe led to a collapsed lung and all sorts of life-threatening conditions) it still hurt like crazy, so I thought maybe I should get it X-Rayed.
But it turns out they don’t X-Ray little toes, and even if it was broken there is apparently nothing they can do about it. All I can do is rest it (yeah, right) and wear sensible shoes (not a problem). So The Doctor can be once again be smug that his diagnosis - that there is no point doing anything – was correct (This is the diagnosis he gives me 99% of the time, about any family medical query).
Still, got to see a slice of local Southwark life in the waiting room. Four very dishevelled middle-aged Eastern European men came in, at least two of whom appeared to be drunk, and all stinking to high heaven. One had injured his eye, but couldn’t remember how, and his ‘flatmate’, who translated for him, could only reveal that he had ‘turned up looking like that 2 days ago’. Another man had some unspecified injury, and the fourth –who appeared unharmed – was striding around the waiting room, aggressively fulminating in some Slavic language, prompting old ladies to cower and the receptionist to call Security.
Just as I was wondering if I really wanted to spend my lunchtime sitting next to these undesirables and their drink-related injuries, it occurred to me that my own injury could also be classed as drink-related; the toe/highchair incident had in fact taken place at 10pm after a couple of glasses of fairly strong Shiraz, as I was exhaustedly unloading the dishwasher in the kitchen.
So, I am clearly the worst example of the middle-class thirtysomething drinking epidemic that we are now being warned about by the government - no better than the likes of Amy Winehouse injuring herself after some drug-fuelled party.
No doubt there should be a Home Office campaign to warn us: don’t drink and do housework, perhaps?
4 comments:
Surely you need a drink to do the housework? Anyway, red wibne counts as one of your five-a-day!
So true. I would also recommend the advice given by the legendary journalist Katherine Whitehorn, on dealing with toddler bathtime - to have a stiff gin first.
Spurred on by House! Ha HA!!
Darling husband and I usually work out serious health problems on a Friday morning.
Yes - despite being married to a doctor, I still take more notice of House. The Doctor often has to take me aside and say: "IT's NOT REAL."
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