The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

First I found out that all things were as I had feared and that I will be spending next semester on diaper-changing duty at a geriatric ward.

• Number of clinical placements within geriatric field (max 4) = 3
• Number of clinical placements where patients are in command of all 5 senses and not brain-damaged in some way (max 4) = 0

Then I went to Silvan to buy tools on my way to Rørsangervej to demolish the kitchen. All sorts of lovely tools. Crowbars, allen wrenches (the six-sided ones you always get with ikea furniture), a level (vatterpas), even an ax. (Okay maybe I went overboard with that one.)

On my way down the aforementioned Rørsangervej on my bicycle, my basket fell off and I got a crowbar through the front wheel. Amazing braking action. The bicycle and I did a somersault (kolbøtte), I executed an amazing 5-point landing (knees, hands, and chin), and the bicycle landed on top of me. Admittedly I only just scratched my chin, I think it was because I had the level in my backpack, sticking up, so it hit the street before my head did.

Anyway, a very sweet pedestrian came to my rescue and helped me unwrap myself from my bicycle, and collected all my lovely tools while I sat in the street and cried and cars had to drive on the sidewalk to get around me. And another person hung out of her window and asked if I needed an ambulance. Which I didn’t, but I did later go to my doctor.

So after I was together enough in my poor bruised self, I  went and sat down on the front step of where I’m going to live and cried some more while I waited for Cecilie. She also fetched my bicycle, which is not in good shape. Then we went up and sat on the floor in the new apartment, there not being any furniture, and had a debriefing. Then we decided that we could just as well do what we’d come there for. I made myself a “håndværker plaster” (construction-guy bandaid) with a piece of paper towel and some packing tape I had in my backpack.

Then we found out that a) we couldn’t turn the water off under the sink, because it didn’t have a switch like we have at our current apartment. Instead it has a screw, but the screw was stripped (vil ikke gribe). B) the blades I’d bought for Cecilie’s jigsaw (the aforementioned bunny penis, aka stiksav) were the wrong kinds, since we hadn’t realised that there was more than one kind. Ha!

We sort of feebly ripped some paneling off. Then we went back to Silvan and bought new blades. We needed some with holes, but the advice guys said that we definitely could use the ones with half a hole, just to make sure we tightened it properly. We went home, trying to find food on the way, but apparently once you go past Nørrebrogade it’s impossible to buy takeaway before 3 in the afternoon, so we went to Netto instead.

When we got home we found out that my jaw hurt so badly that I couldn’t chew. I called and made an appointment with my doctor, who luckily had open late.

We found out that the half a hole solution totally didn’t work (thanks, retarded Silvan guys) and that no matter how we tightened it, we could easily wiggle the blade off again. Since we didn’t want to actually use the saw like that (and thereby risk that the blade would fly off at lightning speeds as soon as we touched it to anything, and hit us in the eyes), we were officially screwed. Outraged, we feebly ripped off some more paneling. Then we gave up.

I got home, feeling very sorry for myself. Dragged myself, hurting, all the way up to the third floor, where I found out that I had forgotten to take the chain off the front door, since I’d gone out the back door,  since I’d been on my bicycle. Few things are as demoralising. So I sent Nicolai an sms to see if he would be getting home within the next 15 minutes, at which I would be fully prepared to just sit outside the door and wait.

Then I remembered that I’d forgotten to go to the pharmacy. So I decided to go to the pharmacy, because I would certainly have to wait for at least 45 minutes, by which time I could just go on to my doctor! Classic. So I did that. Of course when you calculate on it taking approximately 9% of your lifetime to be at the pharmacy, it doesn’t take anywhere near that long — more like 3% — so I had to go over to Kvickly and waste time by buying a drill. Then I went to the doctor.

She looked at my hand, which I’ve scrubbed a bunch of skin off, and determined that I would need MORE antibiotics — seriously, I just finished a course of antibiotics a week or so ago, because I had pneumonia — because my hand was already swollen and red. Not that I didn’t believe her. Just… Yuck. I’m tired of smelling like penicillin. Then she established that my arm wasn’t broken. She thinks that when I hit the street my jaw went halfway out of joint and then popped back in. Good deal. She gave me a prescription for the penicillin and sent me on my way.

I got to the pharmacy 8 minutes after it closed.

Then I spent the rest of the evening feeling sick to my stomach and bruised and ouch (and the night doctor came to look at me, but said it was just the shock) and finally ended up throwing up around 1 am. After that I felt better.

Then I slept all the next day, but that’s another story.