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Hard Shoulder
BY ANDREW SOUTHWOOD
I
knew instantly. It wasn’t good. In fact it was really rather bad. I’d experienced a similar feeling maybe half a dozen times before. First of all there’s the pain. An overwhelming all encompassing sensation that makes simple tasks, such as speaking and breathing challenging. Then the dizziness followed closely by sweating, and queasiness. Yep, I had definitely hurt myself properly this time, and my body was making sure I noticed. After a few seconds I got a grip of my senses and started to try and assess the damage. My emergency self assessment procedure is something I use from time to time, normally after coming off my bike, or as was the case here, falling off an obstacle on an assault course. It follows 3 logical steps: Am I alive? Can I move? Did anyone see me?! Answers to these key questions dictate what I do next.
42 | APRIL 2017
In this instance, there was some good news, I was alive and moving! On the down side, I was fairly sure a whole crowd of people saw me, including my wife and my kids, which left my pride almost as badly damaged as my shoulder. Oh, yes, my shoulder… that’s what undeniably was the primary source of discomfort. I’ve not studied medicine but even without consulting Dr Google I was confident in my instant diagnosis of a dislocated shoulder. I had now established the basic extent of the issue and my mind quickly flashed back to a similar injury I sustained ten years ago. I was left with my arm in a brace for 6 weeks. Unable to drive, work, or tie my own shoe laces for months. It was horrific, but the thought of being in that state now, with 3 young kids to look after, made me almost
physically sick with guilt and panic. When I arrived at A&E I could hardly say my name, let alone give them my address and contact numbers. A minute later, as I was wheeled through to the waiting area, I saw the digital text scrolling across a small understated screen, “… waiting time to see a doctor is currently approximately 2hrs…”. It was clear to me that this was not a viable option as the pain had now progressed to crippling levels. In fairness, a nurse did offer me some Calpol or something, but to be honest it didn’t really cut the mustard. Thankfully they got me some proper drugs and, with morphine pumping through my veins, 4 grown men attempted to ‘gently manipulate’ my arm back into its socket. And yes, that is as excruciatingly painful as it sounds… To be continued.