So, you may recall my Lumpy Knee from the previous blogpost, in which I was finally visiting a doctor and marginally excited about doing something about it. Particularly if something involved syringing.
Well, the visit to the doctor's office was one of the more shameful I've had in recent history.
Scene: I left work early to get to the appointment and realised en route that I was wearing tights. Not ideal for allowing examination of a bung knee and worse, having been in shoes all day the tights and my feet were a mite stale, shall we say (shame: I has none. I just aired my grotty feet on the internet). I arrived just on time, somewhat breathless having dashed from the bus stop. I breezed through the waiting room - a brief transition during which the display flashed that the emergency waiting time was two and a half hours. My speedy entry/exit from the room garnered me daggers side-eye from all the poor sickly types lining the walls.
I explained my lump and the running soreness etc, following which I whipped off my tights on Doctor's orders.
She took one look at said: "You realise you've got a matching lump on the other knee, right?"
So it turns out I'm a complete moron. I made her compare the two and admit that Righty Lumpy was just marginally larger than Lefty Lump. I loudly complained that Lefty didn't hurt. She looked at me like I was a drongo and told me just to take some paracetamol before running on if Righty hurts when I run. Yep, I felt pretty small. Also now feel very self-conscious about my knees and their weird knobbliness and will be wearing midi-skirts only this summer so that people don't think I'm a freak show.
DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT ASKING FOR A PICTURE, invisible readers. Too bad, so sad - it ain't gonna happen.