ANYONE FOR TENNIS – ELBOW!

I used to work for a well known charity dealing with people suffering from arthritis. Because, had I been sighted, I’d have loved to have been a nurse (with a peg on my nose while I emptied the bed pans of course) I have taken a great interest in medical things. I know they say that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing but for a layman I have quite a lot of medical knowledge which I have gained through my own disabilities and from my dealings with lots of other disabled people who have told me about the in’s and out’s of theirs and through the reading I have done and finally Esther (remember that) through my work.

When someone asked me how I was and I was foolhardy enough to tell them that sparked off a whole conversation not about me of course but about them! Best to just say:

“Never explain, never complain” and hope they get the message. This cheery individual decided to tell me all about his elbow which he says has been hurting for months.

“I’m a big strong man”,

He said.

“I shouldn’t be having pain now should I”?

We were alone and I was praying he wasn’t going to show me exactly how strong he was by grabbing me in an iron grip or crushing a cream cheese between his fists. Mercifully he confined himself to chatting about his elbow and let slip that he carried heavy shopping.

“That’s it”, I said.

“I bet you’ve got tennis elbow and if so I don’t reckon it’ll go without treatment”.

“But I don’t play tennis”,

Protested George. (Not his real name). Don’t you just love it when talk show hosts and journalists say that? It gives the game away straight away rather like leaving the hall light on for burglars! You know fine well that the person you thought was really Dave is.

“You don’t have to play tennis to get it”,

I said when he let me get a word in and normally folks I have no trouble with that but on this occasion it was like two people vying for a parking space and he had the bigger car.

“It’s caused by lots of things including knitting”.

“I don’t knit either. Big strong man like me. I’m afraid of needles”.

By now I was edging towards the door when he noticed I hadn’t got my Labrador.

“And where’s Esme”?

“I told you. She’s had to be re-homed as I can’t look after her because I have plantar fasciitis”.

My turn now to go on about my feet which is exactly what I intended to do. After all what goes around comes around and I’d clucked sympathetically about the poor man’s elbow but could I tell him how painful they were? Could I tell him I was having physioterrorism at an alarming rate? Could I tell him how I miss my darling old girl? Could I tell him how I had to get home to bake pastry blind? (a lie anyway since I never bake pastry so no need to run round to my doctor Fred)? Could I tell him about my blog? Not on your life boy! I felt cheated. I’d done all that listening and advising, sympathising and pointing to the place on my own elbow so as to determine where it hurt which convinced me all the more it’s tennis elbow and now I couldn’t even chat for a bit about my plates of meet (cockney rhyming slang for feet for the unaware).

“You know June I’ve an awful pain in my elbow did I tell you”?

Shades of “There’s a hole in my bucket” where you go round in circles again and again. Just then his phone rang. I can’t say I ran out of there or else I’d be guilty of exaggerating but I hobbled off with a friendly smile and a nod. Then I ran into someone who said:

“Where’s Esme”?

“Well you see I’ve got ‘’’’’’”,

Remember now June unless you want another earful possibly about backs, bowels or buttocks “never explain. Never complain”.