On thin ice

The doctor arrived later that afternoon. Doktor Bernoulli, a small serious man with wire-rimmed glasses and a neat, silvery beard, ummed and aahed over Frankie’s knee, which by now was bruised, swollen and very painful. He soon made his diagnosis.

The good news was that the injury wasn’t serious – she would skate again. The bad news was that she would be out of action for at least three weeks.

Three whole weeks!

“B-b-but that can’t be right!” wailed Frankie, as Doktor Bernoulli packed up his bag and prepared to go, handing the nurse a prescription for painkillers. “Are you sure? Can you have another look? You see, I need to practise for the European Juniors. Would it help if I put lots of ice on it? Exercises? I’ll do whatever it takes to get back onto the rink.”

Doktor Bernoulli nodded. “For the first forty-eight hours, I suggest that you remain in sickbay so that you can have complete rest. I prescribe plenty of ice and a Tubigrip bandage will help. Use crutches to begin with and then you can begin gentle exercises. Your physiotherapist will explain everything. She’ll decide when you’re fit enough to go back on the ice.” The kindly doctor gave an encouraging smile. “You’ve been lucky,” he said softly. “Sometimes, in this kind of accident, people injure their cartilage and cruciate ligament at the same time, which is really bad news. You’ve been fortunate not to do that. And if you’re well enough, you can go back on the ice in three weeks. But not before. You don’t want to risk injuring your knee permanently, do you?”

Frankie shook her head. This had to be the worst thing ever. Injuring her knee was bad enough, but there was no way she’d be recovered in time for the European Juniors in February and the thought of missing out on the biggest ice-skating championship of her entire fourteen years was devastating.