That time I fell off a castle
Have you ever broken a bone?
I was 13. I had the choice between a Saturday at my mums’, or going to the local Lamb Fest with my friend. I’d never been to the Lamb Feast before, so it was kind of a no brainer.
I felt oddly apprehensive on the day. Jittery, like something didn’t feel quite right. I tried to push that thought aside though. I was probably just feeling a little guilty. Even though there was nothing wrong with the choice I’d made.
The feast was in the bailey part of a motte and bailey castle. Not that there was a lot of the castle left. Just wall fragments really. The highest point being about 10 feet from the top of the motte, all covered in earth and grass now.
My friends and I would often climb these walls, stare out across the veiw. Today, we were not the only ones with that idea.
After getting ourselves something to eat, my friend and I walked the path up the motte to the top. We did our usual, this time surrounded by many others. The atmosphere was high, and my enthusiasm was higher.
My friend wanted to head back down for more food. She’d climbed down sensibly, but I’d jokingly said I wanted to jump. I was on the 10 foot wall. I was also not unaccustomed to stupid stunts. That competitive nature with my brothers to prove I was the daring one.
I can’t remember now if the jump had been intentional, if I’d actually fallen, or got carried away with the momentum of pretending. It doesn’t really matter. I landed badly all the same.
The pain in my left ankle was intense. A nearby adult called an ambulance for us. Somehow my dad was also called. Not that I remember any of that clearly. I do remember being in the ambulance and getting gas and air for the pain. It made me feel light-headed, but I could still feel the ache in my ankle, I just didn’t care as much.
The team who dealt with me in the hospital were surprised by my x-rays. The state my ankle was in suggested it had been broken and dislocated. The x-rays showed neither. It would take over 6 weeks before an MRI would reveal the truth.
I finished Year 9 on crutches and getting physio. I ditched the crutches for the summer, since I figured I was healed enough. I’m not entirely sure what prompted them to send me for an MRI. Maybe my ankle was still too stiff or swollen. I do remember the MRI was before the week away with my dad. We did both horse riding and paintball that week.
We came back to a letter summing us to the hospital. There was a hairline fracture to one of the inner bones of my ankle, and it would need to go into a cast. My first 6 weeks of Year 10 were on crutches.
There was a second MRI to check the healing process. But when we went in for the results, the doctor we were meant to see was on holiday, and no one knew why we were there. So I was discharged, with no follow up.
As a teen I didn’t think anything of it. Sure the ankle continued to give me issues. Stiffness. Pain. I’ve grown into an adult who accepted that ankle has never healed right. But I had no reason to suspect just how serious it should have been taken on that visit.
I did remember the message the doctor we were supposed to see left, saying it might need surgery. I am also pretty sure my second MRI wasn’t located that day we were in. But no one, not one person. Not any of the physios I’ve seen for lower joint issues. Not the podiatrists. Not my GPs. No one except the ultrasound tech who was scanning my feet told me the fracture was to my talus.
His words ‘I see on your records a fracture to your talus, that’s a pretty serious injury’.
