Sympathy, my foot!

by Clifford
(London England)

Sympathy, my foot!

The day had started well, I felt quite positive, it was a Friday and I was not at work, which is not unusual of late. The ‘economic downturn’ had dictated that I now work on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays only. This gives me less money in my pocket but more time on my hands. I should clarify that I am not a victim of this situation, I love it, wish I’d have done it years ago.

Back to Friday, I had borrowed a van to shift a bed and my ‘middle’ son Cole, aged 18, had agreed to help me. I parked the van outside my house and then opened the side panel door before fetching the bed. And then it happened, the first and most physically painful drop. A clunk, clunk, soft thud. A 3.5 kva transformer (a yellow box of about a cubic foot of pure heaviness) fell out of the van and on to my big toe. This was ‘protected’ by a thin trainer and even thinner, but not much thinner, trainer sock. The pain was immediate and immense. It was confusingly immense; it felt too big for me. I don’t remember saying it but Cole later, much later, informed me that I had screamed out to God’s only begotten and had kindly added a new middle name, ‘Phuckin’. This was serious pain. Pumping, throbbing, intense, acute. I felt sick and thought I would pass out. I unpeeled my trainer and sock which had accumulated a thick, sticky-red soup that had started to ooze out from my big toe’s soft underbelly. I hopped and ooh-aahed my way back into the house and sat down on the sofa to conduct a visual survey of the damage; nothing much to see from the top and a constant drip of blood from the bottom. Cole looked underneath and told me that there was a split in the skin. I asked him to get me some painkillers, a wet cloth and a glass of water. The pain seemed to be worsening. I needed to collect my thoughts before taking some form of action. My heart was beating ridiculously fast, my forehead leaking sweat like I was in a sauna and my mind racing for answers like a Saturday boy caught with his hand in the till.

A gutload (unlikely to be the accepted collective noun) of long, slow, deep and deliberate breaths did help me to access some rational thinking. I needed to get this checked out, that’s what the pain was for. OK, OK but can I drive to the hospital? Possibly, maybe. Cole doesn’t drive. Ambulance. Ambulance? Ambulance?! What for? A throbbing big toe! And then it happened, the second and most emotionally painful drop. I am in the process of enduring comedic big toe injury syndrome. All pain and no gain. No sympathy, just sneers and giggles like a boil on the end of your nose yet this is far, far worse as this is real excruciating physical pain, not just bruised pride or vanity. I should clarify that at this point I am the victim of this syndrome and am feeling pretty sorry for myself. But we would still be living in caves if I left it there so into action. Come on Cole I am driving the van to the minor injury clinic at the hospital. I know my injury is major but the A and E is usually a four hour wait and my big toe deserves prompt attention.

The drive was relatively uneventful and we got there within ten minutes and made our way to be booked in at reception.

Brilliant, hardly anyone in the waiting area and I hobble up to the desk and start giving my personal details to do with where I lived, when I was born and to what kind of God I was scared of. The receptionist was quite cheerful and we kind of got on well and I then explained the nature of my injury. And I spotted the tiny smirk as she managed to let out an awfully insincere “Ooh, painful!” She even looked down to my toe and the smirk morphed into something much more sinister. It was not quite a smile and was far from a grimace and it kind of said “ I am so glad that I do not have what you have” It was smug, it was self-satisfied. It was schadenfreude! That thing that is a joy to give yet so painful to receive. And all I can do back is mimic the inane grin. Now onto the nurse who cleans up the wound and inspects the damage. “It will need an X-ray, it looks like it’s broken” came out of her mouth but out of her eyes came that evil German word and the same from the young radiologist. Oh how I wanted to watch the pair of them be tortured in front of their children while I walk away from the hospital, cackling with laughter as my false smile turns into a psychopathic beam and throw back the lighted match onto the trail of petrol that leads from me to the minor injuries clinic.

It is now Sunday and I have just got back from the fracture clinic. They confirmed the break and said that the bone had been literally split in half and that the skin underneath had burst under the pressure. I am on penicillin to guard against infection, I have had a tetanus injection and the consultant warned me to be vigilant in looking out for signs of a high temperature, fever or blood poisoning. I must return in ten days time. My toe is black; the nail is yellow and has already said its departing speech. The doctor looked at me and smiled. I got it, that’s what schadenfreude is. It says I understand what’s happened to you but you will be OK, it hurts but you will be OK. It is not an act of sympathy; it is an act of empathy. I will be OK. We are just human beings letting each other know that we will be OK. And sometimes that seems quite funny because we often forget it. Human, humility and humour. It is no surprise perhaps that they have similar beginnings.