Wierdest ever injury this morning. I stumbled out of bed around 8am and straight into the toilet. Having done the neccesary, I of course pulled the chain, which is attatched to a cistern high on the wall. The next bit was something of a blur. The cystern lid tumbled down, landed on the toilet bowl which smashed into pieces (as did the cistern lid – ended up neatly folded inside the remains of the bowl). But it didn’t end there – several hefty (and very sharp) hunks of porcelain scuttled across the room, one of them burying itself at high speed in my toe. Of course, I didn’t realise at the time that was what happened – I was still too busy watching water gush over everything (the toilet was flushing at the time this happened, remember) and thinking “oh my god, where’s the mop…. I don’t think there is one” (I’m staying in Dave’s flat, and still don’t know quite where to find everything, or indeed whether everything can be found there).
It was only when my mind calmed down a little, and I surveyed the rubble-strewn, flooded floor, that I realised my toe was hurting a little. Not a lot, but feeling rather bruised. I gave it a cursory glance, and was surprised to see a little blood on top of it. Then, on closer inspection, I noticed even more blood, so I thought “oh my god, where’s the first aid kit” (see previous paragraph). I stuck my toe under the bath tap and was amazed at the amount of thick, gloopy, deep red blood running out. Ouch, I thought. Better wrap it in something – but nothing to hand. I ended up plumping for a (rather dirty) tea-towel. Rang for a taxi to take me to hospital, stumbled downstairs (continually re-adjusting tea-towel) to try and find someone from the housing co-op to tell them about the toilet, tried the neighbours for some medical supplies (eventually got hold of Sheenagh, who very kindly came around with some sweet tea, micro-pore tape and a cotton-wool pad). Eventually my cab arrived and I headed off for hospital, where I sat for a few hours before having my wound opened up, prodded around in, x-rayed, examined by a plastic surgeon (apparently my tendon had been cut, but not so bad that it would need surgery) and sewn back up again. Funny this is, at no stage did it hurt all that much. Isn’t shock a handy thing?