Today was a “Back to normal” kind of day.
Swam about four hundred metres, then dislocated a hip, sank like a rock, and ended up clinging to the side of the pool alternating between swearing the air blue and screaming at a pitch that only bats could hear. Got winched out of the pool, needed the lifeguards to carry me around, the palliative care nurse from a few weeks ago helped me reset the leg, then two other complete strangers wrapped me in a towel then dressed me. I didn’t quite feel like a sack of turnips, but I wish I had been – Turnips don’t notably feel shame.
I’m now home, safe (Dearest had to collect me from the baths in the car, for the less-than-a-hundred-metre walk home. The receptionist phoned both him and Best Friend, in her panic to find someone to look after me) and filling up on morphine.
I feel like hell. I’d not swam in two weeks, and this is my reward for being cautious and sensible. Everyone was helpful and friendly and looked after me to the best of their abilities, though, and were basically the model of how to interact with someone that’s in that much pain (and that’s quite so confused after the heavy dose of laudanum).
On a brighter note, there were a couple of youngsters in from the local team, who wanted to try to race me. At least I still look like someone that it’s worthwhile getting the tape measures out for.