Shin Split
Slept past my alarm this morning. I’ve been so, so tired these past few days, and I would have to loved to keep sleeping, but it’s a work-from-home day and I’ve got work to do.
For lunch I warmed up the potatoes and beans I cooked on Sunday in the microwave, and added a bit of kimchi for taste. I ate my lunch while watching a Cinema Therapy video on You’ve Got Mail. I've never watched the movie before. It's about a small bookshop owner who both detests and is in love with the same man - but she doesn’t know it. She detests the real-life, public version of him, who is the representative of a conglomerate trying to drive her bookshop out of business, and is in love with his private online persona, a sweet and sensitive man with whom she corresponds (hence the movie title). At each extreme, she knows only a part of the man, and extrapolates for the parts she does not know. I guess we are all like that. We only ever know one side of people, but still we divide them into good and bad camps, ignoring the reality that people come in shades of grey.
Rushed through the rest of my work in the afternoon to finish right on time at six o’clock, so I can go for parkour practice. Ben and Solomon were at the park today. Their presence spurred me to take high swings on the lache I've been working on. I also successfully landed the big precision jump I had been working on since the start of the year, the one from the grey wall to the big black box. One time, two times, thre—
Nope.
My left foot slipped. My shin crashed into the edge. Uh-oh, I thought. UH-OH...when I actually saw the wound. It was nasty. Nastier than any wound I'd ever sustained. I know that because I could see the slimy flesh and bone quivering beneath the skin.
The boys came to my rescue. Solomon pulled out his first aid kit. Ben pulled out his phone. "SHIZZZZ!" He took a video, featuring a close-up of the wound, a close-up of my grinning face (because that's what you do when you get injured, you plaster a ridiculous grin on your face), a closeup of the reactions of the two young boys who had edged their way over to check out the buzz. Then, we all had a group photo before I limped away. A truly Kodak moment.
The clinic doctor gave me an local anaesthesia shot and palpated the wound. The thought crossed my mind that he was touching my raw flesh and bone with his fingers, and I could only imagine what I'd be feeling right that instant if it wasn't for the anaesthesia. I had to look away. I didn't want my brain to remember this. I was afraid I'd never dare to do parkour again if I remembered.
He frowned. "I can feel a little crack on the shin bone. Might be an open fracture. I hope I'm wrong, but you need to go to the hospital to get an X-ray.”
The clinic was located right at the train station so I took a train down to NUH right away (wasn’t going to take my chances at Ng Teng Foong). Walking into the A&E department, it occurred to me that a year ago, I had come to this exact same place for an infected foot—my left foot, too—and here I was again, greeted by the overly bright fluorescent lights, the beige walls and floor, the dreary patients, masked up and engrossed in their personal devices. Around me came the intermittent sounds of coughing, and beside me a middle-aged lady was talking incessantly on the phone. Sitting on the last of a row of plastic chairs with my leg stretched, I took a photo of the doctor’s note and uploaded it to Gemini to solicit for medical advice. The results were not encouraging. In the worst-case scenario of an open fracture, I could be hospitalised for a few days and put on crutches. It might be three to six months before I fully recovered. And on the way here I was still thinking if I could attempt the Lache again tomorrow.
