Those of you expecting a deep and meaningful depiction of the triumph of an indomitable human spirit à la Christy Brown are about to be disappointed. The story of my left foot is quite different.
It started on the day after I had finished the paving. The paving had taken a few weekends and had interfered with my jogging. On Sunday, 8th May I was looking forward to a nice gentle 6 mile run.
The first part of this run takes me up a hill and it’s always like a call to get back to work. I start easily rolling along the first flat 200 yards, then it gets quite steep. Up goes breathing and heart rate and after a couple of hundred yards, I’m breathing heavily and my legs feel short of oxygen. But, as if by magic, but in reality by the wonders of the human body, when I get to the top of the hill, I feel great – breathing deeply and in a steady rhythm for the next five and a half miles. At least, that’s how it usually goes.
Half way up the hill, starting to feel good, my left foot lands on a stone and rolls over, with a “ckwk”, and it hurt. Despite (or perhaps because of) the swearing a dog walking woman stopped to ask if I was alright. Residual politeness made me say yes.
I hobbled home.
And sat with my foot up, with ice.
Later, Sally went to play tennis and my foot had swollen so much that I decided to go to the Minor Injuries Unit at Altrincham Hospital. One of the good things about this whole saga is that I’ve been reminded once again of the huge benefit to us all that is the National Health Service. I hobbled in, the nurse said, “You’ve broken your foot, go to X-ray”. The radiologist x-rayed it, I went back to the nurse who put me a tubi-grip on, and gave me some crutches (and instruction) and an appointment at the fracture clinic. All in half-an-hour.
When Sally came home she couldn’t believe that a) foot was broken and b) I had been to the hospital in the short time that she had been away. See how stoical I 
Anyway, the next day I could hardly move about at all – just felt really tired. The following day I went to York on two crutches, feeling a total fraud. Little old ladies stand up to give me their seat! People are kind and considerate! And, unexpected bonus, I find that I quite enjoy getting around slowly, being stoical and not wincing.
After a few days I progress to one crutch, and then, after a week to a stick. I tried the “House Method” (stick on same side as gammy leg) and the “Hospital Method” (stick on opposite side from gammy leg). “Hospital Method” easier, if less cool. Still, many enquiries about injury, and many opportunities to praise National Health Service and my own stoicism!
Weeks pass with daily improvement and gradually I dispense with the stick and the tubi-grip, and get back into normal shoes. Then, after about 5 weeks foot suddenly swells up again and feels worse. Back to the Tubi-grip.
Oh, woe, woe and thrice woe! What a lot of moaning and self-pity over a foot! Where’s my humanity, my sense of proportion, my maturity, my gratitude? Gone! Fallen down the crack in my fifth metatarsal!
Happily, normality is soon restored and gratitude returns. How could it not? I am wholly healthy with a gammy left foot; my body could be wholly palsied with only a working left foot!
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