My niece's husband broke his leg playing football on saturday after a rather harsh tackle. He carried on playing for a few minutes, but gave up as his leg was 'troubling him a bit'. He is 40.
He went two two parties on saturday night and showed no evidence of being in pain, apart from walking a little 'stiffly' - I thought he'd just had a few lagers.
On sunday, the egg-sized lump on his leg had not gone down. He poked at it and it made a loud clicking sound, so the penny finally dropped that he was prodding a fractured bone that was trying to protrude out through the skin of his leg. He drove himself to casualty where he was told his bone had shattered and it now resembled crazy-paving on the x-ray.
He is a fireman. I don't see him very often, tho I actually bumped into him a week or so ago attending a fire on Stiby Road. A gang of kids had torched some lock-up garages. "Bloody nuisance," he shrugged, "I'd just settled down to watch the footy."
He now has an open wound in his leg, but doesn't want to make a fuss about it.
The firemen round our way are hard as fucking nails.