trip

This is turning into a very depressing blog, I guess I like the sympathy comments. I tripped over my own feet while waving a cab to get me to Pearson. It didn't even feel very painful at the time. The knee started swelling while waiting to board the plane, but I kept moving about and did not worry about it much. The plane wasn't full, and a nice stwardess gave me three chairs, so I could stretch my legs. And they gave me bags of ice all the time. My knee kept on swelling however and reached football size (almost). The pressure in the plane made it worse the stewardess said, so I remained optimistic. There was no way I could do anything at all having reached Schiphol, so I was raced through the airport on a golf cart. And I could pass the enormous line at customs, the blessings of being handicapped. Then I had to catch the first train to Deventer, and I made a very nice and extremely drunk young man carry my luggage. In Deventer thank god Michiel and his dad were waiting for me. And with loads of ice I got through the next days, passed out on the couch. I managed the funeral, even wore high heels. I guess the sad circomstances made me feel good in comparison. I got better gradually during the rest of the week, but had to cancel a trip to my best friend and the editorial desk in Amsterdam. The flight back was not so luxurious, a full plane. So I came home swollen once again. The nice looking dark bruise is new, flying is a bad idea for injuries. The front of the knee is not as purple as it was, but my ankle is more purple every day. The doctor told me that would happen, so I'm not to worried. I borrowed my father-in-law's cane. And I promised my neighbours I'll go see my family doctor.