Tuesday, 7 October 2014

The story of the hospital selfie

Here is said selfie. What a beauty of a photo. Here is the story of how this photo came to be...

For some background, it's important to remember that I'm a very accident prone person. I broke my leg when I was two, jumping on my parents' bed and then missing the bed (such genius, much clever. Wow), dislocating my shoulder, breaking two fingers, and then, last year, breaking my heel jumping off a fence to get out of a locked park (again, the genius is strong.) 


Anyway. So you're on holiday with a bunch of your best pals. You're in Budapest, in a ruin bar (an abandoned soviet office turned kickin bar/club filled with 'ruined' furniture, hence the name). In general, you are having an amazing time.

AND THEN

One of said pals, in fact your oldest friend, also the guy who told you jump off the fence that fractured your heel, tells you to stand on a bench that you know to be broken. So, taking into account the factors- same broken-heel guy, definitely broken bench, 'ruin' bar- what do you do? YOU GET ON THE MOTHERFUCKING BENCH, THAT'S WHAT.

And, of course, you fall through the bench (at this point I'm gonna switch back to first person, because this is getting weird). There was a blissful few seconds after falling through the bench that I didn't realise what the fuck I'd just done (I say blissful, but I mean, I was still in agonising pain)- and then I noticed the fucking huge hole in my leg. It looked like what you'd expect a bullet wound to look like. There was a bit of unattached flesh that had previously been part of my leg next to it. There was so much blood on my shoes I decided to leave them in Budapest. It was gross, basically. And it hurt a lot, so much that I couldn't deal with it right away.

To the credit of my two friends who were still sober (including the bloke in question, who told me to get up on the bench in the first place), they dealt with this new turn of events remarkably well, as did the bar, who called 999 or whatever straight away. One of my mates rode in the ambulance with me (after a nurse had stabbed me repeatedly and told me my skin was like a crocodile's while trying to get an IV in), while the other got a taxi to hospital. The taxi got there first (nice one, Hungarian health system). Also kudos to them as they managed to deal with an overemotional and crying Eibhlin. Which doesn't happen often (everyone I know will vouch for that, I'm sure).

Anyway, now we're at the hospital. I have no idea what's gonna happen. Am I gonna have my leg cut off? Am I gonna die? I DON'T WANNA DIE? Etc. etc. I get x-rayed at least 5 times, while my two friends are busy making a new friend- a Hungarian bloke who lives in Wembley, North-West London, gone back to the motherland for bit and ended getting into a fight with some gypsies and breaking his thumb (which was sticking out at a very odd angle), he also said that he liked London, apart from all the Jamaicans. While speaking to a Jamaican from London. Nice wan braaaava. Overall a very strange guy, not the kind you wanna be sitting with in a dark Hungarian waiting room at 3am, anyway.

Post x-rays, I'm wheeled through the waiting room into another room (my friends were on google translate and got “operating theatre”) I still had no idea what was going on. The only doctor who spoke English went to my friends- who were now (at least slightly) concerned about what operation was about to happen and told them the “good news”. He then came into the operating theatre where I was waiting, apprehensively, under my sheet (oh yeah, I didn't mention, the whole time at the hospital, while I was confused and high as fuck, I was just wearing a sheet and my pants. This is because I had to get my chest x-rayed as well, since I also managed to give that a solid whack too), as he came in to tell me the “good news”- I only needed four stitches. There was to be no real operating in this operating theatre, thank fuck.

So after the stitches, but before my IV was removed, I put my clothes back on and got involved in this now famous (at least amongst my friends) selfie!! WOW. GO ME. FOUR FOR ME.

Now, about 4 months later, I am left with this kickass scar, a constant reminder that if I was a tragic hero, my fatal flaw would be a blatant disregard for my own safety. Stay chill y'all xoxo
(P.S. Nice batman PJ's, me. I rock)