“Went to school of own accord. Mistake. Hurt very much. Went to doctors. she told me that I have to have an x-ray”
Sounds as if, even back in 1972, I was a belligerent sod when it came to health matters?
When I feel ill now – in 2008 – I usually try and work through it, pushing myself a little so as to ‘pretend’ I am not really poorly.
Maybe that’s what I was doing in 1972 too? I probably woke up this morning, bored from being at home all the time, and just decided “to hell with it”, I would go to school.
Seems like I made a big mistake doing that, maybe exacerbating the problem further. So far that *gulp* I needed to go to the horse brutal!
I’ve always hated hospitals. I’m not quite sure where the hatred stems from, but it makes me feel queasy and unsettling to be in one even if I am just visiting someone laid up in bed.
I do know that when I was six or seven years old, and playing with some friends on a building site in Eastleigh, I accidentally cut my head wide open (I still carry the scar). A kindly grown-up from near where I was playing (yes, we played totally unsupervised at that age in those days!) walked me home to my parents house where my Mum nearly fainted at the sight of all the blood pouring from me. I was rushed to the emergency room at Southampton Hospital where, and I remember this, we waited around for EVER for me to be stitched up by a doctor. So maybe it that nonsense that put me off hospitals?
All I knew on March 14th 1972 was that I had a trip to one in my future. Eek!