Robyn’s Nest

When I left the house on Sunday to play volleyball against Cambridge I was a sprightly, fit and healthy 28-year-old looking forward to kicking some arse on court. Now? Well, now I’m much like a pensioner hobbling around, needing someone to help me get to the toilet and generally causing a nuisance.

I went over on my ankle during the game - there was screaming but I didn’t cry - and spent the rest of the match on the floor in agony, with my ankle iced and propped up on the bench. Boo hoo!

When I took my trainer off a couple of hours later my once slim (ish) ankle was baseball size and it hurt a lot. I have to point to out that I am rubbish with pain and anything to do with muscles and bones makes me feel a bit sick.

Despite the pain I was in complete denial about the state of my ankle, thinking a bit of ice and a good night’s sleep would do to the trick. Nope. A taxi ride and a lot of hopping got me into the office and I realised just how disabled I was. This is not good for a control freak, super independent kinda person. Asking my work buddy to take me to the toilet was a tad embarrassing, but as it involved two flights of stairs, I couldn’t go it alone.

So, a trip to physio man followed and he made me feel sick again. All that talk about ligaments and rips and tears. Yuk. He strapped me up and gave me his diagnosis - a grade one sprain with possible ligament damage, although it’s hard to swell, sorry, I mean tell, because it’s so swollen. He gave me a lesson on crutches - suddenly I feel about 70 - and ruled out volleyball for three weeks. My hopes to play in two big National League games this Sunday have been dashed. Gutted.

Mr physio thinks I’ll be good for skiing in four weeks as long as I do the right things to get my ankle strong again - so no high heels for a while then. High heels? I can’t even carry a cup of tea from the kitchen to the lounge without emptying half of it on the floor. I feel like I need to get a nurse-maid in. It’s only been two days and I’m fed up already. Have you ever tried getting into a bath when you can ony use one leg? Not pretty.

So, the positives of this sorry tale? I can’t think of any but I guess I’m lucky to that having played competitive sport for a good 15 years, it hasn’t happened sooner.  Another sign that old age is approaching? Maybe.