As soon as I hit the asphalt, I knew what had happened. Another Smith's fracture, my third in 10 years. I was in the public car park next to one of my two offices, running to my next meeting when I was tripped up by a pebble. The car park attendant was extremely kind: he left his post and took me in his own car the couple of miles to the local accident and emergency department. The queue was horrendous, but I eventually reached the front, only to be told that the wait to be seen was 1 hour and 10 minutes and there was nowhere to sit down.
I would never normally have done what I did next, but—with a broken arm, a blackening eye, and a bruised face—it seemed the only thing to do. With many silent apologies to the rest of the waiting room, I pulled the only string I could and declared my identity as a medical practitioner. Suddenly a seat was found, the consultant on take was called from his lunch, I was given a telephone so that I could call my husband, and I was sent off to radiology. When I came back the consultant looked at the films, confirmed my diagnosis, and explained that he would add me to that afternoon's operating list and put in a plate.
“And while you're under the anaesthetic I'll sort out your nose,” he said.
“My nose?” My nose is one of which Julius Caesar himself would have been proud and was currently the only pain-free feature on my face.
“Your nose,” he repeated. “It's broken. Have you looked in the mirror?”
I looked in the mirror. My nose was its usual Roman self. “My nose is fine,” I said.
“Fine? You can't go about looking like that. I've got to do something about it.”
“But it's fine,” I repeated, “I always look like this.”
“You can't do,” he shrieked.
We argued back and forth like this for several minutes and were almost coming to blows when, through the open door, I spotted my husband wandering down the corridor looking for me.
“Robert,” I shouted, “Come and settle this.”
Introductions were swiftly made, and the consultant got in first. “Tell me,” he said, “Does this lady look like your wife?”
Robert surveyed me carefully. “Well she's a bit battered,” he said, “but, yes, that's her.”
The consultant subsequently made an excellent job of my arm but left my nose strictly alone. The accident and emergency department, however, has since had a massive facelift, thereby improving the service beyond recognition.