Im a highly-strung sort, which has its own challenges.
As GrandMaster Flash said way back “don’t push me cos I’m close to the eedge / I’m trying not to / lose my head”.
That high-stringing, fuelled by an active imagination conjuring up the worst, sometimes feels close to snapping.
That’s the case with this damned leg.
I’d like a document – signed in blood and promising a first-born sacrifice – reassuring me that my ( very swollen ) leg is safe from the bogeyman of amputation.
I don’t know whether the document or the amputation is less likely.
But at times like these, far from home and with a language barrier – the imagination runs amok.
The leg feels a little better, but I’m not convinced I’m out of the woods yet.
A GP visit yesterday shed no further light.
I’m banking on a scheduled follow-up visit to the hospital tomorrow will put an end to my grappling.
Meanwhile, most things are more of a struggle than they need to be.