Bah, sometimes you get the
bear, and sometimes it gets you. This hasn't been my greatest
month, but today was the
icing on the cake, so to speak. Picture it, dark night in
Belfast, four years ago, and after having jumped up, I
land awkwardly, my body falling diagonally, my left leg touching the ground vertically, I hear and feel something go
snap in my left
knee.
Of course I went to the Doctor, I couldn't bend my leg, let alone walk, and my knee had swelled to the size of a football. He told me I would have to get onto a waiting list, to be diagnosed. "Just to be diagnosed??"
"Yep." Pause. Deep breath. Think. "Okay, so how long will it be, a couple of months?" He gave me this grin, you know, but like an idiot I didn't see it coming. "I'm really sorry, but it's going to be a couple of years."
I waited a couple of years, nothing happened. I went back to see him, and he made some phone calls. The people at the hospital had lost my records, I was back at the start of the waiting list, another two years. No wait, the list was longer, 4 years now. I blinked and told them I was going to sue them. They didn't believe me, but I until my solicitor wrote them a letter. I magically got told a few days later via a phone call, that I was given a two year head start on the new list, and it was really the best they could do, now that was in what would have been my original position. Before I could argue she hung up. I went to speak to the solicitor, he told me how much it would cost to sue them, I didn't have that kind of money. Still dont.
Another couple of years came and went, the lack of martial arts, and other strenuous sports took their toll. I started to gain weight, and lose grace, becoming almost clumsy. I had to walk carefully in order to stop my knee from giving way inwards, I couldn't go to the gym anymore, I couldn't run, and I began to put on serious weight. Finally they gave me a date for an initial consultation, I went in. The consultant manhandled my knee, and ordered an MRI scan. Another six months. MRI Scan done. 2 months later, it's May, and I get a date for my final diagnosis.
That was today. I came out and went home. I got a litre of coke and drank it non stop. I ate until I was fit to burst, because I needed something anything to stop the pain in my heart. He told me that my knee had lost a couple of ligaments, one was stretched, the other was torn, cruciate, as in cross, ligaments. The operation to fix them was available, but was I sure I couldn't live with it?
What? No. This injury had slowly been destroying my life, I had put so many things on hold till I knew I could be whole again. Martial arts, travel, even marriage. Stupid, I know, but I thought, well, it's only a few years, and better be completely healthy before I marry.
"The only problem is, son.." He grinned. It didn't reach his eyes. "It'll take several years before we can give you a date for the operation. - at least another 4."
That means I'll be at least 28 before I can try to run.
Anyways, after a crappy birthday on the 5th, the joys of being drawn into a political mire at the mosque, a hugely important report for my MPhil, raising MPhil course fees, business problems galore, being ill for nearly two whole weeks, being behind schedule on the Orasi project, and, well, this... I'm a bit depressed.
I just want to break something... Bah.