In the late afternoon of 20th, Friday, I was careless and missed the last step as I walked down the staircase after a meeting at The University of Hong Kong. My 120-pound plus weight landed on my right knee. My friend Mandy, who was with me, though petrified could still say that I should go to the clinic nearby immediately. I gestured that I would have to sit there for a few minutes before I could stand up. It must have been an awful sight.
Two other events had been lined up for the rest of the day. I limped to the two meeting places and managed to present myself properly. But by 10:30, the pain crept in and I could hardly move my foot without moaning. The injury had to be taken care of. Ken, Mandy’s husband who had arrived to take her home drove me to the emergency ward of the Baptist Hospital. By then, the slightest movement of the inflamed right knee would bring chronic pain enough to make me scream. It was already 11 at night.
I was the 15th patient waiting to be attended to by the one doctor. If each would take up 10 minutes, my turn would be past midnight. As expected, the doctor examined me at 1:00. He insisted that I would first be x-rayed and then hospitalized. Might as well because there was no way I could walk up to our apartment on the third floor of an old block with no lift service!