A lesson learned.

A couple of months ago I got caught up in the snowball that was the "25 random things" meme on Facebook. I'm sure you did, too. Rather foolishly, in an act that was not so much tempting fate than lassooing it and hauling it from wherever fate happens to reside, number 17 on my list of particulars was that I've never broken a bone, and that for some reason I feel slightly disappointed by this fact.

I should be clear here. I don't particularly want to break a bone. I sure as hell don't want to deal with the pain that accompanies such an act. But I am intrigued as to the experience, and there is something... appealing, if you will... about being seen to have broken a bone. Surely there's no better battle wound than a plaster cast on your arm or a pair of crutches to help you get around? Admittedly, it must be awkward and uncomfortable - and I don't envy that - but suddenly you have a story to tell anyone that asks, a portable conversation-starter. It almost demands attention from others - and I find myself surprised at thinking it's a little appealing, because I'm someone that tends to stay off the radar and doesn't like a fuss.

About 18 months ago I injured my ankle playing football - one of those inexplicable tweaks that hurt like hell at the time but was quickly run off and dismissed as nothing. After a couple of weeks of continuing to play on it, and continuing to aggravate the same spot, I ended up going to my GP, who in turn referred me to get an x-ray. This, I must admit, kind of excited me. A potential fracture that hadn't caused me huge amounts of discomfort - it could've been my ideal battle wound. My team-mates would have continually asked me for updates on my fitness; girls would have offered me sympathy as I would tell the story of injuring myself whilst doing the manliest of things - sport; and if I'd been a top-flight professional the cameras would cut away during a lull in the game to the image of me watching from the stands, all whilst the commentator would say something like, "how they miss this guy, sidelined for six weeks with a broken ankle".

In reality, I'm not a professional footballer, and as it happens, it turned out there was no fracture. As a result of having to wait two-or-so weeks to actually have my x-ray, and then another three to get the results, whatever the injury was had cleared up by the time I returned to the football pitch, and although I was delighted to be able to play again, there was an element of disappointment that I didn't have an overtly obvious reason for my absence.

I have to admit to feeling a tad sad as I tell you this. I'm making myself sound like a person that craves attention and/or sympathy, and that's really not me. At all.

Nevertheless, karma, or perhaps irony, has now caught up with me.

Whilst playing football last Thursday, quite early-on in our 5-a-side after-work kickabout, the ball ricocheted at some speed towards my chest. If you can imagine one as a rock and the other as a hard place (I'll let you decide which is which), my own hand ended up as the thing that was caught between them. So, essentially, I punched myself in the ribs. And it hurt. And it continued to hurt afterwards. And for the following seven days, in fact, at increasing levels.

Today I finally conceded that the pain wasn't going away anytime soon, and that perhaps I should be making a fuss about it after all, so I went to the hospital to get it checked out. Lo and behold, I was told that I "may" have broken a rib - but because these can't be treated with a cast and heal of their own accord, they don't x-ray them unless it has punctured, or possesses the potential to puncture, a lung. Which mine hasn't.

So there we have it. Two months after saying I felt disappointed at never having had a broken bone to accessorise, it looks like I now have one which I can't show off at all. All I have for my efforts are four boxes of painkillers (because I wasn't taking enough, apparently) and a small leaflet advising me to do breathing exercises every two hours. Not as cool as crutches or a cast. And I can't even tell people it's definitely broken. All I've got is a "maybe" and a heap-load of pain for the next few weeks.

I think it probably serves me right.