It's a funny thing, pain

Picture it; Whitley Bay 2011.  A young (ok, youngish!) woman and her family decide to take advantage of the sunshine (if not actual warmth) and have their first family bicycle ride;  Sam on his big 20 inch bike he got from Father Christmas, Steve on his shiny space age looking bike he got from Mother Christmas and Tom and I on my clapped out old purple number, with the child seat securely mounted at the front.
 
Lovely.
Bonding. 
Excercise. 
Laughter. 

We go to a park that is a little distance away, maybe 15mins child cycle pace away, called Churchill Playing Fields.  It's a great park - grass, swings, loads of slides, climbing frames, see saws, zip wire... oh yes, the zip wire.  Sam had met a boy from his class, whose Dad, Patrick, I know, as he is one of the Beavers sub leaders.  They were playing well, Tom was being included, it was a lovely little snapshot moment that you etch into your memory.
 
They were all queueing up for a go on the zip wire, and Steve gave both of our kids a big push to zip them along with a bit more oomph - they loved it, laughed themselves silly and then had had enough and were moving on to the next piece of playground equipment.  Tom had had the last go and as Steve bumped him back along to the start, he gave me his mischievous little grin and said "Mummy have a go!"  more of a command than a question really.  I said something along of the lines of "these things are not really made for mummies"  Steve said something encouraging, e xactly what I can't quite remember, and so chuckling away I got on.

Steve gave me an almighty push and I was off, breath quite taken from me at how fast I was actually travelling.  It is not far, the distance from start to finish, and I was moving FAST, but it was still long enough for me to muse that it was too fast, and that the speed, along with the slightly carousel up and down motion, was making my stomach flip a bit, and wasn't I a big girl's blouse not even being able to handle a zip wire, and would I confess this queasiness? no probably not - need some street cred in front of the kids (isn't mummy FUN!) and there's the end it's nearly over, must hold on the kids always bop all over the place when they connect with that rubber bit, with my weight it will be even more, here it is, get ready.
 
Connection.

I'm in the air - I'm still in the same seated position, hands still holding onto a non existent rope, and there is a sickening, bone crunching thud amidst the deafening silence, as I hit the matted, muddy ground, shoulder first.  The sound "ooof" seems to resonate through my head, which suddenly feels the wrong size, shape, position.  I can't quite work out where my limbs are, they feel strange, awkward.  And then I feel pain, closely followed by nausea.  I tried to sit up and Steve came running over "are you okay?"  I wasn't, and said so. I wanted to sit up and lie down and got to sleep at the same time.  The pain was extraordinary, I can honestly say I have never felt such excruciating pain before (no, although I have 2 children, my diabetes prevented me from experiencing the joy, and pain, of labour!).  And oddly, despite being twisted around myself in agony and shallow breathing, I still had this separate, lucid little thought bubble - where I was being grateful for the fact that I have experienced so little physical pain in this life of mine!

My wonderful friend Emma, who truly has shown herself to be a friend in need, was duly called for, and wonderously, came.  In her car, with her husband and children, plucked from the carefree family outing they had been enjoying.  She was far away, but she came, and there I was white with pain and shock, tear streaked and shaking fit to jumpstart a car.  They scooped me up, teased me gently and Mike deposited Emma and I swiftly at our local A and E, where Emma stood in the queue and I promptly, and quietly, found a toilet to throw up in. 

It is so sore, throwing up, when your shoulder, arm, chest and back are contorted with pain.  It is interesting the things you learn; pain in a particular muscular area makes you aware of how interconnected the body is - how a movement, which in your head has no relation to your shoulder and which you should therefore be able to accomplish fairly painlessly, is actually just the head domino in a not-so-delightful domino effect over vast expanses of your body. 

Anyhow, as interesting as all that might be (?!), back to the story!  I was whipped (ha ha, just read this back and thought, whipped?  no, don't remember any whipping, but then I was kinda out of it!!) through an initial assessment and an x-ray as quick as you like, with Emma, Florence Nightingaling me every step of the way.  Once they had established that nothing was actually broken we were released back into the stuffy, people infested waiting room like a disappointed sigh.  Emma got me settled and went to ring Steve - who had been in charge of getting 3 bicycles, 2 children and himself home (with thanks to the kindness of the Aldridge family, friends and neighbours) - to let him  know what was going on.  Steve soon arrived, Emma went home, with our thanks, but I am sure, no real idea of the depth of my gratitude and love. <3

We were seen soon enough I suppose, given the number of people waiting, and it was confirmed that it was merely "deep tissue damage, have some painkillers, take loads, it's going to be abut 6 weeks before it feels normal again."  Erm thanks Doctor, sorry, Hannah, ummm and you are fully qualified and trained and experienced and all that, only you look SO young...?