Threeinarow
Well-Known Member
I went to Barcelona last week with the girlfriend. I had been looking forward to this trip ever since I knew she would be coming to live with me in Manchester (she's Aussie). I was mega excited, like a little boy, that we were eventually going.
For the last year I've harped on about going to Barcelona together, so we eventually got round to it, meaning we would be there for my 33rd birthday also.
The first couple of days were fantastic. I've been before so I'd put together a plan of things to do so we could really get stuck in to Barcelona and we were having a mint time.
For my birthday, I had requested that we go and have a rest day, down on the beach, soak up some sun at my favourite beach bar and slowly drink ourselves into an oblivion for the day. The day was perfect.
We left the bar for a while to go and get some cans of Estrella and walked along the beach for a couple of miles, the warm sea washing up around our feet as we laughed our way along in the sun.
We returned to the bar and drank majito's, danced on the sand with the locals and then watched the sun go down. This was good quality time together, and really nice on my birthday.
Our next idea was to nip across to McDonalds, grab a quick feed, then finish off our remaining cans by walking back down the beach towards Barceloneta, (we were right down the other end past the Olympic village), under the moonlight and be a bit romantic, as you do.
So, off we popped to Maccies, when all of a sudden, as we're walking down a grass bank I goof my ankle on a grid. I have flip flops on at this point and the pain as I twist my ankle in fuck knows which direction is horrendous. (It's making me feel sick as I type this). I stand up, fall back over on the bank and think wow...I'm going to faint. I didn't, but I was close. Fuck fuck fuck, I've messed my ankle up here like.
We waved a taxi down and went back to our hostel. I hopped up 3 flights of steps and lie in bed and passed out.
The next morning, I look at my ankle, very swollen, grazes on my foot (how the fuck they got on the top of my foot I don't know). My girlfriend said I moved in a very weird way went I went over on it, which by the look of my foot confirms what she saw.
So now the panic sets in. I've broken my ankle, it looks dislocated, and I have no insurance. I have people telling me to go to the hospital etc. I'm going to have to phone England and borrow a shit load of money etc. I spend the next few hours deciding what to do. Ahhh, I have an E111, that should help.....nope, they stopped in 2006 and now you need a European Health Insurance Card (EHIC), which I don't have either.
My next move is to look at pictures of sprained ankles on the internet. This was the best thing I did, as it showed ankles looking far worse than mine. Thank fuck for that. Ok, so I reckon it's sprained. The missus goes out to get me pain killers and a bag of peas so I can R.I.C.E. up. She comes back and informs me that the pharmacy sells crutches. I buy them.
So, for the next 3 days, my view of Barcelona is me looking down a hostel bed at my ankle raised in the air, devo'd that the trip I had looked forward to soooo much was over. Wounded.
My girlfriend was brilliant, bringing me food and drink and painkillers. I had to rest up to get the swelling down as people were saying that it's quite dangerous flying with sprains or swollen body parts.
We make it back to Manchester and I go to MRI the following morning where I have an X-ray...which confirms no break or fracture...but I have a shitty sprain that going to take a long time be right again.
So for the last 2 days, I've been sat in my flat, off work, resting, bored, and so decided to share my experience with you.
Anyone else got any holiday trauma's they wanna share?
For the last year I've harped on about going to Barcelona together, so we eventually got round to it, meaning we would be there for my 33rd birthday also.
The first couple of days were fantastic. I've been before so I'd put together a plan of things to do so we could really get stuck in to Barcelona and we were having a mint time.
For my birthday, I had requested that we go and have a rest day, down on the beach, soak up some sun at my favourite beach bar and slowly drink ourselves into an oblivion for the day. The day was perfect.
We left the bar for a while to go and get some cans of Estrella and walked along the beach for a couple of miles, the warm sea washing up around our feet as we laughed our way along in the sun.
We returned to the bar and drank majito's, danced on the sand with the locals and then watched the sun go down. This was good quality time together, and really nice on my birthday.
Our next idea was to nip across to McDonalds, grab a quick feed, then finish off our remaining cans by walking back down the beach towards Barceloneta, (we were right down the other end past the Olympic village), under the moonlight and be a bit romantic, as you do.
So, off we popped to Maccies, when all of a sudden, as we're walking down a grass bank I goof my ankle on a grid. I have flip flops on at this point and the pain as I twist my ankle in fuck knows which direction is horrendous. (It's making me feel sick as I type this). I stand up, fall back over on the bank and think wow...I'm going to faint. I didn't, but I was close. Fuck fuck fuck, I've messed my ankle up here like.
We waved a taxi down and went back to our hostel. I hopped up 3 flights of steps and lie in bed and passed out.
The next morning, I look at my ankle, very swollen, grazes on my foot (how the fuck they got on the top of my foot I don't know). My girlfriend said I moved in a very weird way went I went over on it, which by the look of my foot confirms what she saw.
So now the panic sets in. I've broken my ankle, it looks dislocated, and I have no insurance. I have people telling me to go to the hospital etc. I'm going to have to phone England and borrow a shit load of money etc. I spend the next few hours deciding what to do. Ahhh, I have an E111, that should help.....nope, they stopped in 2006 and now you need a European Health Insurance Card (EHIC), which I don't have either.
My next move is to look at pictures of sprained ankles on the internet. This was the best thing I did, as it showed ankles looking far worse than mine. Thank fuck for that. Ok, so I reckon it's sprained. The missus goes out to get me pain killers and a bag of peas so I can R.I.C.E. up. She comes back and informs me that the pharmacy sells crutches. I buy them.
So, for the next 3 days, my view of Barcelona is me looking down a hostel bed at my ankle raised in the air, devo'd that the trip I had looked forward to soooo much was over. Wounded.
My girlfriend was brilliant, bringing me food and drink and painkillers. I had to rest up to get the swelling down as people were saying that it's quite dangerous flying with sprains or swollen body parts.
We make it back to Manchester and I go to MRI the following morning where I have an X-ray...which confirms no break or fracture...but I have a shitty sprain that going to take a long time be right again.
So for the last 2 days, I've been sat in my flat, off work, resting, bored, and so decided to share my experience with you.
Anyone else got any holiday trauma's they wanna share?