ow.

Of all the places I expected to be at 7:30 on a Saturday morning, the emergency department wasn't all that high on the list.

Bed? Yes.

Making a coffee? Yes.

Emergency department? No.

The excruciating pain woke me up; just above the right hip and spreading out in every which direction from there.

It reduced me to a whimpering, sobbing mess.

So off to the hospital we went. In my pyjamas.

The pain was still taking my breath away so I entered the world of ill-fitting hospital gowns and identity bracelets.

They had to take my blood and they wanted to put a line in just in case hard core intravenous painkillers were the order of the day.

Yep. Cannulas.

They hurt. Like some kind of words that would thrust this blog into MA 15+ territory.

And that was the first time they tried.

Two hands and one wrist later, I was sporting a cannula. Out the side of my wrist.

The pain subsided, much to my relief.

Mum was sitting at my bedside wanting to take photos of me in an ill-fitting hospital gown.

I know, not exactly happy snap time.

So I said a potentially inappropriate joke: 'Hey look, I'm Jesus!' Holding up my hands with the two round band aids over failed cannula attempts.

She giggled. Dad looked at us funny.

If I could crack jokes, I was well enough to go, so I left the hospital with 20 minutes to spare to get to my travelography course.

I made it on time, looking like I'd just done a runner from a hospital.

Just call me Speed Racer.