30/11/22 08:30 

Who would’ve thought I’d be in A&E, writing away in a notebook so close to leaving on a trip to Paris?  Yep, me again.  I’m sporting another sporting injury.  This time it’s from running.  And this time I’m in King George’s Hospital.  I was on my second lap around the local 5k block when out of the blue, my tight ankle became loose.  It was literally only a couple of steps before I had to use my Ju-Jitsu training and roll safely as I smashed onto the pavement.  With my own momentum, I stood up and carried on running.  But within a few yards, with my iPhone 13 mini, Apple Watch and all items of clothing unscathed, I noticed that my left hand had a little hole and my right hand looked slightly bigger than I remembered.  My left leg now feels bruised (about 90 minutes afterwards) and my scuffed right upper arm is starting to rub against my work shirt causing discomfort.  But this waiting time is already causing me more pain than the injuries. 

I’m simply here as a precaution as the lump in my right hand could either be a soft-tissue injury or a small fracture.  The former will just be annoying; the latter won’t do much for my writing.  Nor my rugby.  Nor the schlepping around Paris. 

An hour and three quarters since arriving and I finally get seen by triage and booked in.  It’s now a 2 to 4 hour wait until I’m seen by the injury clinic.  The nurse in triage is also a runner.  She fell last year and faceplanted the pavement after tripping on an uneven paving slab.  It took her ages to get comfortable running again.  I’m quite good with things like this.  Whenever I’ve had an issue, I’ve gotten straight back to it once it’s been physically possible.  I take it to the point of panic and then push a little harder.  The only time I didn’t do this reckless action was after my stroke.  10 years ago, it stopped me dancing for a while as I was unsure how my blood pressure would be affected.  With the possible increase of blood pressure came the heightened fear of a second stroke.  Eventually, I bit the bullet and everything was fine.  Well, as fine as it could be when I dance. 

As I am sitting here, waiting for the screaming of children to subside, an app sent a notification to my phone telling me that a previously prepared post was ready to go onto Instagram.  The app, called Later, has been quite good for me over the last month or two as it’s allowed me to plan my posts during quiet periods.  The funny thing is, this entry will need to be blogged and a photo posted.  Kind of a meta thought, in my head.