I arrived at the hospital this morning at 6.30, to avoid the long waiting-time that I’d experienced yesterday. I’d been in relatively little pain, but it still felt like something serious enough to warrant the extra visit.

In total I was there 7 hours, of which 6 1/2 hours were spent sitting like a plum in various positions/areas waiting for specialists to ascertain what had happened. Finally I was told that I’d fractured my tibia and would need a cast.

I must admit I was slightly excited at this: I’ve never had a cast before, and I feel I should experience it once in my life. Initially the doctor said something about pulling my wrist, or finger, or something (I phased out at this point, thinking of the pain), but he came back later to give me the good news that I wouldn’t need the pain-killers, and that I could go directly to another room to have the cast applied.

The most surprising thing about the whole event is that, while my arm does hurt, having a fractured bone isn’t as painful as I’d imagined. Plus, I get some industrial-strength pain-killers for the future.