Meet Brenda.

Since fracturing my right ankle last week during a netball game, Brenda has been responsible for holding my manky ankle together while I try to finish off my first semester of university and keep up my work as a singing teacher.

I was in the position of Wing Defence (WD) and I was standing on the outside of the circle where the opposition’s goal ring is with the Wing Attack (WA) beside me. My feet were a little wide apart and the WA puts her foot in the middle of my feet to push off and run for the ball. Sensing that she is running in the other direction I start to lift my foot to run after her, and in the process our feet got tangled, managing to spin my body around and fall on my butt in the circle.
While my body spun around, my right foot didn’t, so when I fell on my butt I felt and heard a crunch in my ankle as I gracefully descended on my now bruised bottom.

Because of the polite young lady my parents have brought me up to be, the only word I could delicately utter as I sat on the court clutching my ankle was:
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…”

This was happening as my team mate was trying to talk to me and help me up off my feet, as I was uselessly wincing in the pain of it all. But as she could translate from all the fucks I was conveying, she and my opponent managed to promptly carry me off the court.

As I sat on the side of the court, a physio came to my side straight away poking and prodding at my ankle asking where the pain was, but I just sat there like an idiot saying it hurts all over.

It reminded me of primary school when I would ask for help in class and the teacher would say, “What part don’t you understand?”, and I would shake my 8 year old head at her in disbelief and say, “All of it.”.

I remember the physio touching it where it should hurt but it just felt kinda numb. I think it was due to shock, and the adrenaline running in my system that I couldn’t tell where it was significantly affected. In that moment I couldn’t even remember how I fell over, suddenly I was on my butt, and all I could say was fuck.

The physio didn’t think at the time that it was worth going to hospital so we just went home afterwards, and somehow I managed to walk out of the courts without any assistance.

But that night as I sat on the recliner icing my manky ankle watching trashy TV, a world of pain hit me, and it suddenly didn’t feel like the usual sprain injury. The next day Mum and I went to the hospital to get some X-Rays on it, and BAM thats how I met Brenda.

From the moment we met she seemed sturdy and reliable for my manky ankle needs.
Despite my dreadful appearance that day at the hospital with my unwashed trackies and naked face she accepted me for the dishevelled state of who I really was.
Without her I don’t think I would have been able to go to uni for the last week of classes and assessments, because she made me believe that I was some-what mobile, as we hobbled from class to class to library to train.

Oh, and I suppose you’re wondering where did you get the name Brenda from?
Do moon boots come with their own names?
How did you know it was a she?
Are you assuming the moon boot’s gender?
Do moon boots have a gender?
Is gender a realistic concept for a moon boot?

I decided to name her after the WA who tripped me over in the game, because up until the fall I thought that it was a super rad name.

Like: “Woah watch out here comes Brenda”, “Don’t worry Brenda has it covered.”, “Pass to Brenda!”.

See? Reliable. She just seems like a person you could trust to carry you off the court, and do your taxes.

***

Blog Update:

I have been very busy with assessments for the past couple of months which is why there hasn’t been any recent posts here on Hay’s Corner. I thought I could manage uni, blog and work, but I underestimated the work load!

Now with the first semester coming to an end after next week, I will be back to posting more content!
I’m excited to be back posting more poems, and a few other things that won’t be poetry based.
So keep your eyes peeled for more posts over here in June.

xx