It started on Saturday. Possibly the year before. Well actually, it was three years go, the first in what has become the annual BBQ of some friends. They have several acres in the middle of nowhere and decided to hold a big summer BBQ. Year 1 was glorious weather, I was staying in a local B&B so got gloriously drunk. Year 2 it rained, but was still great. Year 3, more rain, still fun, until I was about 300 yards from home when someone went straight on at a corner and wrote my car off, damaging my left thumb in the process. Still hasn't recovered and looks like it never will.
So, onto this year. Excellent weather, a bit windy perhaps, but sunny. Caught up with some old friends, ate loads, and because I was driving, remained alarmingly sober. Then Paul gets out his 'board - one of those off-road skatebaord things. I generally shy away from things like that, never having been particularly good on skateboards when they were the rage the first time around (I'm older than I look, unless looking from above where the rapidly icreasing bald spot gives the age away). A bunch of us trudge up the hill, and give it a go. I manage a couple of respectable runs (respectable is probably an exaggeration, perhaps I should say they weren't embarassing), but come a cropper on the third run. I was getting complacent, trying to steer, and fell off backwards. Onto grass and not going fast, but directly onto my right shoulder, which instantly goes numb and assumes an odd shape. A shape that definitely isn't shoulder shaped. Not good.
Up the hill I go again, board in left hand, and hunching over my shoulder. I flex my shoulder and click, click, my shoulder clicks back into place and I can feel again. Then the pain hits and I wish it was still numb. I've never dislocated anything before and my advice is don't. It hurts. A lot. I spend the remaining twilight trying to ignore it, and eventually decide it's time to go home. And here's more advice. Don't drive if you've just dislocated your shoulder. I get home, take some aspirin (nothing stronger in the house), and head for bed. Not much sleep as it's so damn painful - every movement jars the shoulder.
Sunday I head off to the hospital via taxi. I take a thick book expecting a long wait in A&E (ER for those across the pond). And it was long; 5 hours of dullness, punctuated by brief moments of activity. It goes like this: register; wait; triage by nurse; wait; doctor; wait; x-ray; wait; docter with x-ray - "you've fractured your shoulder - book an appoinment at the fracture clinic where you can sit around for another 5 hours". He didn't actually say that last bit, I made that up. I actually have no problem about waiting in these places. I understand the order of things. I wasn't in immediate danger, bleeding profusely, or a young child. Next appointment is tomorrow.
What's interesting about this whole affair is the realisation of how much you use your shoulder. You'd be surprised. Luckily I can drink left handed; malt whisky is an excellent sedative - you should try it. Drink enough and you pass out, and then the hangover in the morning takes your mind away from the painful shoulder.
And one final point - Wakey, where the heck were you? We missed you.