That Greek X-Ray Story

It was the point at which I was crawling towards the bathroom across the floor of our apartment in Athens at 7am, swearing like an inebriated sailor because any kind of pressure, twinge, or pin-prick on my foot made it erupt with searing pain that I knew I had done something a little worse than simply twist my ankle. Through fuzzy eyes, my roommate Valerie caught me trying to get through the doorway, and mumbled ‘Are you okay?’

‘I don’t think so. Oh dear.‘

Twelve hours before this moment I was meeting friends old and new at TBEX’s Travel Massive event (TBEX being a travel blogging conference, for those of you who aren’t familiar with it). Walking back to our apartment that evening, I had a bit of an altercation with a curb – as embarrassing as it is to admit. The average 80-year old can deal with curbs perfectly fine but apparently I can’t. Placing my foot too far forward on the pavement as I stepped off, all the weight went into the completely wrong part of my leg and thus my ankle twisted inwards and I toppled to the ground. My hands caught me, I put it down to just a bit of a twist, and we carried on home, which was fortunately just around the corner.

It didn’t take long for it to turn into complete agony. A few hours later I looked down and – I say this without exaggeration – my ankle was the size of a tennis ball. If there was anything that I could have said I was thankful for, it was that we were in a beautiful, spacious FlipKey apartment, with a long couch I could put my leg up on, and an extremely helpful, attentive host upstairs who, when informed of the accident, kicked straight into gear and arranged for me to be taken to the closest hospital. And thus another plus point was added to the long list of why apartment rentals with groups of friends are officially one of my favourite ways to travel. I was grateful for the privacy and comfort as the whole experience would have been far more  inconvenient had I been in a hostel dorm without my friends around me (not to mention an expensive hostel to, at that). Fashioning a makeshift wheelchair from the desk chair in our apartment, I was swung into the elevator, and our gracious host carried me across the cobbles of Athens and into a taxi.

Lying on a bed in a hospital on the outskirts of Athens surrounded by old, grumbling, flaking patients has not ever been something on my life’s to-do list. Staring up at the ceiling, I tried to focus my thoughts on being as positive as possible, and repeated to myself, ‘Please don’t be broken, please don’t be broken, please don’t be broken.’ A sour-faced young male doctor with an award-winning lack of sympathy for pain came over, blurted something in Greek, and started to poke my ankle in various places, twisting it to see where it hurt. I dutifully let him know by screaming while trying not to give him a reactionary thump to the face. He looked like the kind of doctor who would happily light up a cigarette right there in the room then shamelessly help himself to a copious amount of hospital painkillers; that’s how little of a shit he seemed to give about caring for people. Nevertheless, I can’t fault him on his efficiency and within minutes I was in the x-ray department.

Hanging off the side of a hospital bed in order to peek around the curtain 15 minutes later, I watched two doctors on the other side of the room slip my x-ray onto a lightbox and discuss the results. I scanned the parts I could make out to try and see a fracture (as if I’m qualified to even know where exactly to look) but couldn’t see any noticeable cracks. Lots of nodding in agreement ensued before my favourite doctor came over again and told me I hadn’t broken my ankle at all, just badly sprained it. Oh, thank God. He whipped up a back slab for my leg, put the x-ray into my hand (souvenir!) and sent me on my way. The whole process took under an hour.

Just in case you’re curious, Greek hospitals provide neither painkillers nor crutches in these situation, you have to buy both for yourself. If any blogger out there wants to write a post on ‘Best Crutch Shops in Athens’, be my guest – I’m curious as to where the hell I’m supposed to find them.

The next few days were among the more shameful of my life. Lots of sympathetic head tilting and lots of rubs on my arms. It was official; at TBEX Athens 2014 I was known as that girl hobbling around with a sprained ankle and only one shoe on. Attendees I had never met before actually came up to me and said ‘Oh you’re the girl with the sprained ankle!’ Yep, that’ll be me.

In fairness, everyone was hugely sympathetic, I met numerous people who had done exactly the same thing in the past (Phew. Not just me then.) and it was quite the talking point when it came to getting to know people. True to form, I didn’t let it change my TBEX experience in the slightest and I was still socialising from dawn ’til dusk regardless of my lack of mobility. Us Higgins’ have a tendency to brush off injury with a few shrugs and a couple of Paracetamol, a characteristic that came in handy throughout this experience.

Unfortunately – six weeks later – my ankle is still swollen, I can’t yet run on it (which means I’m putting on a huge amount of cheese weight during the holiday season…), and certain twinges will still have me howling. This experience is firmly at the top of my list of biggest travel fails, but if that’s the worst that’s happened to me in the last four years, I think I’m pretty lucky. This copy of my Greek x-ray is sure to be framed one day, and I’m fortunate enough to have experienced the sweet, sweet relief of being able to wear two shoes again after having gone right-foot-only for 10 days. Never have I felt so much gratitude for this left leg.

Have you ever hurt yourself while travelling?
What’s your worst travel fail?