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“No. My arms broke my fall.” I try to get up and a sharp pain in my right leg like glass pulls me back to the floor.
“You’re not fine.” Lara’s eyes travel down my legs to my feet. Her eyes widen and the tears she was holding back begin to flow.What can she see that I can’t?
Someone turns on the main lights and the bartender comes over with a first aid kit. I’m pretty sure I don’t need a plaster, even though this is more than a cat scratch. I lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds, and my world begins to whirl into a blur. How much more would this hurt if I was sober?
The crowd quietens down as the bartender talks. “Can you flex your foot?”
I try, but instead of getting the result I expect, I scream out in pain.
Lara grips my hand. “We’ll get a doctor to look at you.”
“We need to call an ambulance,” the bartender says, looking at her rather than me. He disappears into the crowd and the people part to let him pass.
“Hopefully it’s just a sprain,” I say, making Lara’s frown deepen. Does she think it’s more than ligament damage?
“Maybe.” She smiles for a few seconds but she doesn’t look convinced. The next hour goes by in a whirlwind. Two lovely paramedics load me onto a stretcher, and Lara follows me into the back of an ambulance.
I’m checked into Leeds Royal Infirmary and already know this is going to be a long night. The A&E department is busy, and I’m not the worst patient that’s come in. Six police officers pass my bay with a guy with a large scar down his face. He looks like a villain from a warrior movie. There’s a curtain closed around another bed which has people running in and out. A woman’s pained scream pierces the air. I take a deep breath, already hating the place.
Lara pulls up a chair next to the trolley I’m lying on. “It’s going to be okay,” she says.
I glance down at my ankle, but my boot is still in place. Until it’s removed, I won’t know what it looks like. The sharp pains are real enough, though.
Her words sober me up. It’s definitely not going to be okay. England used to be my home, but America technically is now. I have medical insurance, but that’s not the point. I’m a workaholic. I don’t want to rest an injury.
Plus, my apartment isn’t practical, and it’s across the ocean. A flight and a couple of taxi journeys are going to be hell. Then there are the long halls to consider in my building. With crutches, this all seems almost impossible. Let’s hope by a miracle my ankle feels better in the morning. It’s silly, but I cross my fingers behind my back. Lara catches my movement and copies the gesture.
Besides, I’m supposed to be going volcano boarding. I can’t do that with a dodgy ankle. It’s a dangerous activity without an injury. My future flashes before my eyes. What will my boss say? Other than a few trips to England every so often, I never take a day off. I need my job like the air I breathe.
My chest feels heavy as realisation sets in. If I can’t work, everything I’ve achieved is at risk. What about the Extreme Sports Journalist of the Year Award? It’s only August. What if I can’t get enough trips in to finish my column? Dread takes over my mind. This can’t be happening. What if my boss gives it to someone else? Panic rises within me, and I try to fight it.
“Okay is the last thing this is going to be. It’s likely I’ll have to postpone my plans, and how am I going to get home?” I frown while my chest continues to rise and fall erratically. Let’s hope it’s a bad sprain and I’m back on my feet within a week. As a reminder of the trouble I’m in, my leg throbs.
“I’m here for whatever you need.” Lara touches my arm. She’s a good friend, and maybe I don’t appreciate her enough. Even if I don’t want to depend on her, I’m at her mercy for now. I’ve no choice but to lean on her.
“Let’s just see what the doctor says.”
We smile at each other, but it’s weak.
Thankfully, we don’t have to wait long until a young female in a medical coat comes to greet me. “Mallory Abbott? Hi, I’m Doctor Busby. I see you’ve been enjoying Pride.” She looks at a few notes on her tablet.
“Hi. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances. What’s the plan, Doc?” I’m trying to be optimistic. That’s all I can do right now and it’s better than crying.
“Where does your leg hurt?” She taps on her tablet, writing something down.
“It’s my ankle.” I point to the right one.
“We need to get that boot off first. Then we can assess what’s going on.” She steps outside my cubicle and comes back with two nurses. They untie my laces and cut the leather away from my ankle. Once my foot is free, I can see the results aren’t going to be good. My ankle is swollen like a balloon and dark as the midnight sky. Seeing it makes the pain intensify. The gasp that leaves my lips doesn’t cover the way I feel.
The doctor writes on her tablet again before she speaks. “I’ve ordered some X-rays. I’ll see you back here when you’re done.”
A porter wheels me down to the X-ray department where the radiographer takes some pictures of my bones. Doctor Busby meets me back in the cubicle fifty minutes later. She assesses the pictures with a frown.
“I’m afraid it’s not good news, Mallory,” the doctor says.
“How bad is it?” Lara wraps her fingers around mine, and I welcome the support.
“You have fractures through the bones in your ankle. I’ve been in touch with the orthopaedic team and they have scheduled you in for the morning. You’re looking at surgery to plate the broken bone on the outside of your ankle and six weeks rest to help it heal.”
