Plan B was hoping for sympathy for a recent mishap. ‘I went running in Richmond Park yesterday, slipped on an icy footbridge, fell into the guardrail, and dislocated my shoulder. I put it back in and ran the remaining 10 miles with my arm clamped to my side,’ he emailed. ‘It was feeling a bit tender, but surprisingly OK (it did not come out far and it was not out for long – it actually popped out again when I moved it about two minutes after the first dislocation, but I just put it back in again). Later on I went to the hospital to get it checked – I felt like a bit of a timewaster as I had showered and changed without problems and it was not hurting unless I moved it a lot – and they sent me for an x-ray.
In the x-ray room, I was tentatively getting my arm into position over a plate, when, without warning, the radiographer grabbed my hand to position it better, re-dislocating the shoulder, but even worse than before. I shrieked and shouted the f-word at her. I was taken through to A&E to get it sorted, and even the doctor there was an imbecile: she had been comparing my right shoulder with my left, which I did not really think about, and then she started putting stuff on my left arm. I asked what she was doing and she said she needed to put an IV thing into my good arm. I told her it was my left shoulder that was dislocated, and she said she thought I had said it was my right, to which I retorted somewhat impatiently, “No, LOOK AT IT,” and she replied, “Yes, good point, sorry,” because my shoulder bone was clearly protruding and my left arm, which I had been holding with my right hand – another giveaway – was a few inches longer than my right. I told her not to bother messing around with morphine and just put the shoulder back in – which I now regret, because I quite fancy finding out what morphine is like.
‘Anyway, the conclusion is that I ran a hilly half marathon in the snow yesterday, taking my weekly mileage to 35.5 miles, but I spent three hours in hospital and came out feeling much worse than when I went in, with pain in my shoulder and difficulty showering and dressing.’
I laughed aloud, startling the repairman who was fixing the intercom. I forwarded the email to friends who knew Plan B. ‘I just snorted my tea,’ one friend responded.
Plan B was not impressed. ‘It wasn’t supposed to be comedy.’ I tried to make amends, ‘How long does it take for a dislocated shoulder to heal?’ (Admittedly I was hoping for a funny response which I didn’t receive.) I asked him about his dating life. ‘Not much to report,’ he replied. ‘I have been seeing a girl, a doctor, but I am not sure what is going on there… I am pretty anti-NHS at the moment.’ I forwarded it to my friend with a ‘Put Your Cup of Tea Down’ warning in the subject header.
