Excuse my bleary eyes and slurring speech, I’ve not had very much sleep. Laura and I spent last night in A&E department at the MRI. It was the longest night of the year, and it sure felt like it.
I’d been to Decathalon after college, and cycled home with Laura’s gel seat in my panniers. Laura had picked up her hire bike, and had been to Lymm to pick up the baton for our leg of the coast to coast relay. I pulled in at Dudley Road, but there was nobody there. A mouthful of water, and Ashley pulls up. “She’s not badly hurt,” he said, flustered, “come one, let’s get you bike indoors.” What? He’s joking, right? Right? “She’s knackered her wrist, but she’s okay.” What? Very funny Ashley, except…
Except then Ashley pulled Laura’s mangled hire bike out of the boot of his car, and my heart sank.
“What’s happened Ashley?”
“Don’t you know? Oh right…”
A cat had run out in front of her while she was moving at 20-ish mph. She pulled the brakes. The brakes were good. Too good. She had flown over the handlebars, and landed in the road.
She and I waited in A&E together. In triage she was given some painkillers which sent her a little bit round the twist. We played the categories game, and I tried to keep her spirits up. After everything – the bake sale, me taking the time off work – she felt like she’d let people down. I was just glad she was okay.
Well, relatively okay. After a student doctor, a real doctor, an x-ray nurse and the real doctor again had taken a look at her, they realised she’d broken her elbow. Four to six weeks off work. She looked at me despairingly.
“All those people who’ve sponsored me…”
“Come on sweetheart, let’s go to bed.”
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