Ah...

Yesterday, all sorts happened. The infusion went well, and my left foot was so bad I could barely walk on it. Everyone who saw it said the same thing,
"You have had that checked out, right?"
"Its just a sprain."
"Go and get that checked out, now."
It hurt like fuck, so I decided to take the advice of everyone who'd seen me hobbling about.
"Nothing's broken, right?"
"Go and get that checked out."
Beth came to get me from the infusion suite and we set out to find an urgent care. We ended up at Martha Morehouse, where I'd spent a lot of last year doing physiotherapy. We had to wait quite a while, hearing the run on bronchitis echoing around us. The doctor walked in.
"X-rays."
"Oh."
I then found myself on a table holding the lead genital shield, popping different moves whilst the X-rays were taken. Back to the room, coughing playing out in the distance. The doctor came in..
"Nothing's broken, its all tissue damage." This is the do some exercise you tubby twat diagnosis.
He then told us he'd be working out in the gym until the day he died. Right.
Came home. Beth gave me back the iPod classic she'd taken to the apple store. I presumed it was dead, and she could get a discount on something. They took it out the back, it works! the light on the screen doesn't, but all the music I thought I'd lost, is still there. I'm listening to it now. None of the crap I get from my iPhone. It doesn't tell me about emails or Facebook bollocks. It just plays music. Ah….glorious.