So, i got up bright and early, took care of my ablutions and went up town to buy a newspaper. It would help to pass some of the waiting time. I had booked my cab way too early, as is my wont, Mr. Punctuality, that's me, and when i got there, it might easily have been a Sunday morning. The waiting room was barely half-full. No huffing and puffing. No seething mass of sweaty disgruntled impatient customers with standing room only like my previous visit. But then with A&E being so unpredictable you just never know from one minute to the next. It looked as though i might even get seen on time.
I actually got called before time but that was only to see the plasterer who also does the un-plastering.
The conversation was short and sweet,
"Good morning, how's the arm?"
"Seems okay. I think, hope."
"Right then. Okay? Comfortable?"
And with that she got busy with the angle-grinder.
"You needn't worry, it'll only cut through the dressing, you're arm is quite safe."
"Yeah no worries, you've got to do what you've got to do."
Although patients are advised that they might sustain the occasional nick or graze, the cast was soon off and i came out of it totally unscathed. But my arm, JEEEZUSSS!
From my fingers right up to my shoulder, sudden darts of pain shooting up and down with the very slightest of movements, i was almost afraid to breath.
" Jesus! Can't move won't move."
"Oh physio'll soon take care of that. It's going to feel quite vulnerable so just take it easy for a while. And see what the consultant says."
Which wasn't much actually but he seemed satisfied. I voiced concerns about aches and pains in my shoulder but he merely repeated what the plasterer had said.
"You've had a cast on for nearly six weeks. You arm is very weak now and you're going to need physiotherapy."
He didn't linger. I was given a sick note for two more weeks and was told by a receptionist that another, smaller Hospital, closer to home would contact me in the next two to three weeks, to arrange physiotherapy.
Job done then. Well, getting there.