October 18, 2007
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I’ve never been someone who gets ‘proper’ illnesses. I never broke a bone as a child, I never gashed an arm open by running through a plate glass door (something that, anecdotally, seems to happen to a lot of kids, I don’t know why), I never had measles or mumps or gastroenteritis. I don’t know why I should have had gastroenteritis, I just like the word. Instead I have ‘dodgy’ knees. Migraines. Psychological breakdowns. And now I can’t even have a proper broken foot.
I’ve been hobbling around for the last fortnight. My right foot really fucken hurts and now I’m full-on limping. And what does the doctor reckon it is? Tendonitis. What would have been wrong with a hairline fracture, mmm? Trapped nerve? DVT? Something a bit less middle-class than ‘tendonitis’? Oh, it’s an itis, is it? *sigh*
Doesn’t stop them attempting to take an arm’s worth of blood to see if I have gout. No, seriously, gout. Apparently I’m a nineteenth century aristocrat, lounging by the fire in my breeches and velvet dinner jacket, fingering a crystal glass of claret.