Bloody parrot!
I was planning to fill you in on my Long Covid recovery today. (In brief, I had a minor relapse, but I seem to be back on track and am generally doing well.) However, I will instead be writing about my latest injury, because today I have injured myself. Again! Suffice to say that I am not a happy bunny.
Apparently, I have a partial tear of the gastrocnemius. Medial head. Or, in layman’s terms, I have partially torn the main muscle in my calf. In simple terms this means that, for a while, I can’t really walk.
This is what it looks like on the ultrasound. The black bits (circled in red) are where the tears are.
I think it may be twins Mr Pitts
“How did you do that?” I hear you say. Well, let’s see how you do with the multiple choice options. Choose just one of the below:
Leaping across a glacial torrent
Rescuing a small child from the clutches of a rabid bear
Sprinting across a snow bridge to safety just seconds before it collapses
Chasing a parrot off the garden bird feeder.
Yep, you guessed it. Option 4. Chasing a parrot off the garden bird feeder.
Picture the scene. It’s 07.30hrs. I’ve just gone downstairs to make a nice cup of tea and what do I see? A bloomin’ great parrot helping himself to the nuts on the garden birdfeeder. Now we don’t want to encourage this non-native species as they scare off the smaller birds. So, on the rare occasions that I see them, I always chase them away.
I carefully open the door and, boom, I’m off. Running at the speed of a striking leopard. First my right foot hits the ground as I power off up the garden. Then my left foot and… “POP!” (that really is what it felt like) I go down like a pack of the proverbial cards. It feels like I’ve been shot in the leg. Fortunately I thought this scenario unlikely as there aren’t many snipers at large in Berkshire. I therefore felt I had time on my hands to simply lie where I was and curse and swear whilst picturing a thousand future plans crumble to dust.
Long story short, I managed to get an appointment to see the marvellous Imran at Physiocare in Twyford. Imran did an ultrasound (see image above) and put my mind at rest. A bit. It will be a few days before he can be certain how bad it is (it all depends on whether it bruises or not apparently), but it doesn’t look too bad. Between 2 and 4 weeks to a full recovery if I’m a good patient (I’m always good). I shall be seeing him again on Friday morning to get a better idea.
I’ll keep you posted.
My positivity is certainly taking a bashing. And, to add insult to injury, while I’m rolling around on the ground cursing my arch nemesis, Mr Parrot, I’d swear I heard the little bugger laughing at me.
