I was reluctant to tell too many people about my recent badminton injury. It’s bad enough turning your ankle over playing the game which, let’s be honest, isn’t the most macho of pasttimes, but then going on to seriously hurt your knee by merely attempting to stand on your leg and walk off the bad ankle verges on ridiculous.

I’ve managed to surpass that this time though.

I’m sitting in A&E whilst writing this, having once again done something to my left knee. The exact same injury as three weeks ago, and again, as before, I spent the best part of an hour sitting with an ice pack on the knee, unable to move my leg at all, and as a result stuck in exactly the same position for an hour.

And this time the injury was caused by… Putting on a sock. Yes, you read that right. I was in the middle of changing clothes to go out tonight, was sitting on the bed and pulled my left foot up to rest on the bed. As I put the sock on there was a shooting pain that coursed through my leg, causing me to try to straighten my leg to stop the pain. With that, the knee locked and I was stuck with my left log locked at an angle.

I had my mobile phone to hand and called mum, who was downstairs, asking her to bring up an ice pack. After about 45 minutes of numbing the knee I began very slowly inching my toes across the floor in an attempt to straighten my leg so that I would at least be able to get up and move around.

After a good ten minutes my knee suddenly and unexpectedly clicked back in to place, resulting in a torrent of swear words that accompanied the pain. A few seconds later though and it was all back to normal. The knee was no longer locked and I was able to move my leg, though there was still a lot of pain.

I called Alan, who I was supposed to be meeting tonight, to let him know that I wasn’t coming out. He could obviously hear the pain in my voice and asked what had happened. I explained that, in basic terms, I’d screwed my knee up and needed to get it looked at. His first words?

"Oh no! Are you still going to be able to drive us to Leon’s wedding at the weekend?"

He was being serious too, the git.

That phone call was followed by another, this time to Tasha to ask for a lift to the hospital, which is where I am now. Tasha’s gone back to mine as neither of up had enough money to scrape the minimum £3 needed to park in the hospital car park (don’t even get me started on that!).

The knee feels much better, though it needs looking at, which is something I didn’t get done before. I dare say it’ll be x-rays and then a diagnosis of a dislocated kneecap (though the bloody thing was still in place despite the pain) or ligament damage, and a follow up appointment with the doctor in a day or two. And a bloody great bandage to go home with.

As for what I’ll do about either driving to the wedding or, longer term, just driving, I have no idea. I dare say that, as before, I’ll be able to drive, but that in hindsight it’s probably not the best course of action!

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