Oh! The agony. At first I couldn't even put my foot on the ground. As I stood there one-legged, crying with pain and frustration I really had no idea how I was going to make it back to the house. After a few minutes I found I could weight bear but it was no fun and I made my way slowly and uncertainly to the house. Bert was, as usual, totally unsympathetic although he did help me off with my wellies which were very filthy indeed.
That was three days ago. The first two were rather limpy and I had to go up and downstairs a step at a time like a one-year-old child. No more running up and down the stairs for me. Every step was painful but I soldiered on. That was the first piece of advice I got. Keep moving. Then someone else said, "You should stay off it. Rest a couple of days." Too late. I had spent those couple of days 'keeping moving'. Some folk said, "It will be months before that gets better." Who knows? It is three days since Rusty lamed me and today the knee is still sore but the strength is returning to it. I go upstairs and down in the normal way although it does hurt a little.
There is just one thing I haven't done since Tuesday morning and that is - I haven't gone near those damn pigs. Pigs are rough. Very rough indeed. Anyone who is tempted by the thought of a pet pig should bear that in mind. And did I mention the tusks?
2 comments:
I hope you didn't tear anything in there.
I don't think I did. Just stretched it more than it wanted to be stretched. Y'know you cannot laugh off these sort of episodes when you are pushing sixty!
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