The Patchwork Man [#projectPrague]

Back in October last year, a friend of mine was visiting Prague on a work trip. We met for a few beers. Literally three I think.

Unfortunately, on my way to the Metro after walking back to his hotel with him, I tripped and fell going into the station. He was very helpful and paid for a taxi home. However, as it crossed some of Prague's ubiquitous cobbles, I moaned in pain. 

The taxi driver asked if maybe he should take me to hospital, rather than home. I reluctantly agreed. I asked which hospital.

"Karlovo Náměsti," he said.

"But I live there. I thought you were taking me to hospital!"

"I am." 

"But which hospital?"

"Karlovo Náměsti."

"That's where I live! Where is the hospital?"

"Karlovo Náměsti."  

There was a hospital in my square and I didn't even know.

With the help of a porter who spoke no English but a little German, I found the emergency department. They attempted to relocate it for an hour which was excruciating, damaged the joint extensively and ultimately failed. They had to do a nerve-block and then it slipped in easily.

They kept me in overnight. That was "interesting," but the some of the nurses spoke quite good English and they were very helpful. They even provided  a vegetarian lunch on no notice at all.

I had to wear an orthesis to secure it. A week later, I rolled over in bed (in the orthesis, note) and it dislocated again. I hobbled across the square to the hospital (walking with a dislocated arm is extremely painful), in my pyjamas.

Rinse and repeat. At least, since it  was 7AM, I hadn't eaten or drunk, so they could do a general anæsthetic and put it back in with less of a fight.

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