Dear followers, I am writing this post with one hand so please bear with me if it seems to be slow. I still can’t believe what happened to me the other night. Still half asleep, I decided to go downstairs in the middle of the night for a glass of water. I must have missed a step and went tumbling down and found myself at the bottom of the stairs. Managed to pick myself up again with aching left wrist and throbbing neck. Didn’t realise my wrist was broken and didn’t really fancy a trip to Hull Royal Infirmary (you go there to die!), so I went back to bed, with Roberto’s help and waited for daylight.
In the morning Roberto took me to Goole hospital as there was no way that I was going to Hull Royal. At Goole I was treated by kind and caring nurses and a doctor fairly quickly and was home by lunchtime. If it had been Hull, I would still be waiting for the dead-behind-the-eyes ghoulish people who work there in slow motion. It's too scary to contemplate. Holby City it ain’t!
Anyway, have since been back to Goole hospital for follow-up appointment. Roberto and I got the giggles when the receptionist asked me what my ethnic origin was. Wanted to say "black Irish" but they wouldn't have believed me, with my Scottish accent. The nurse asked me what colour of plaster I wanted. I could have had Barbie pink or purple. What is that all about? I am a grown woman aged 40-la-la, not a five-year-old child. You will be pleased to know I settled for a sensible white plaster. It won't clash with any of my outfits. I was in and out of the hospital in just over an hour. If I had gone to Hull, I would probably still be there, lying forgotten in the scary waiting area.