My tennis injury, hobbling on school run and the long wait for treatment

To be clear from the start, my ailment was minor. I was running around a tennis court and felt a searing pain travel up the back of my right calf when I stretched for a shot. I tried to run the injury off and continue, but it quickly became apparent that I could put no weight on that leg and would have to retire.

Later my calf started to swell. I was unable to walk that evening and had to travel up and down the stairs by sliding on my backside. I had an instinctive feeling that I should probably get some medical attention, but I found myself in a strange in-between place. If I had fallen and broken my ankle I would have been taken straight to hospital. But I guessed I had merely torn or sprained a muscle. So, what was I to do?

There was the option of going to the accident and emergency department. But this was hardly an emergency. An A&E visit would have involved being driven into Belfast, triaged and (quite rightly) put at the bottom of the priority list and then waiting many, many hours to be seen.

Another option was to get an appointment with my GP. But again, this was far from an easy solution. We have a wonderful health centre, but the process of trying to get to see a doctor for those whose conditions are not serious can be complicated. The pressure is such that the line is constantly engaged. On previous occasions it has involved phoning more than 100 times before getting through and then being told that the elusive appointments are all gone.

And there was yet another reason which held me back from pursuing immediate medical help. The knowledge that resources are scarce and that there are many more deserving cases than me. Is it really morally defensible for me to hog a valuable slot with a doctor for something as mundane as a sore leg?

So, on this evening, as my leg throbbed, I tried to come up with another way. I went online and found that my local health trust had a self-referral physiotherapy service. Even here I was cautious, not wanting to clog up a system designed for people with more serious problems. But the explanatory notes were clear in stating the service catered for muscle strains, sprains and sports injuries. I filled the form out, explaining, that at that exact moment, I was unable to walk properly.

Soon I received an email telling me that my claim would be triaged within eight days. I moved on. My wife did an admirable job of bandaging my sore leg. The school run did not cease, so I had a few days of hobbling up and down the street to get my boy there on time.

After a while a huge bruise appeared on my shin. The severe pain eventually gave way to a dull ache and my limp went from severe to moderate to slight. After a couple of weeks, I was able to walk in a fashion which prevented other parents having to ask me if I needed help.

I knew that I was getting better but there was still part of me which thought it was worth getting a medical opinion. Even though I was walking well I knew that any more energetic stretching motion still resulted in sharp pain. Even a light jog remained out of the question. I wanted a reassurance that the healing process was following the right path.

Then, after a few weeks, I got a letter from my health trust. It contained confirmation of my referral and a reference and phone number.

I called the number and the woman at the other end gave me the first available physio appointment at my local hospital, which was a couple of months later.

I had been patient throughout the process, uncomplaining and prepared to wait my turn. But now it occurred to me that by the time I would finally get seen by a qualified professional, it would be more than three months since I had hurt myself. I really wanted to be running again and back on the tennis court by then.

And then another letter dropped on the mat in my hall. I was rushing out of the house when I saw it. It was addressed to me and the envelope again bore the name of my local health trust, so I quickly ripped it open. It contained information that seemed to suggest that I had been referred to the ear, nose and throat service in a hospital.

I was now late and had no time to examine it further. I drove away confused. How had a leg injury ended up with me being referred to an ear, nose and throat specialist? It bugged me all day until I got home and read the correspondence properly. Now I realised that the letter wasn’t for me at all but for my son who has the same first initial. But it still didn’t make sense. Why was my son being referred to a hospital specialist? And why did I not know anything about it?

It took my wife and I some hours to solve the riddle. Years previously, my son was examined by the school nurse, following which she sent a letter recommending that his hearing should be tested. I was unconcerned. I spend a lot of time with my son and I’m certain that there is no issue with his hearing. However, I was happy enough to go along with the recommendation.

Then time passed, more than two years. We heard nothing more and I suppose we forgot all about it. Until now.

I read the letter. It stated: “We want to reassure you that you have not been overlooked, and regret that it has not been possible to give you a date for your appointment.”

I hobbled up the stairs, my leg was throbbing again, but I hardly noticed it now.