That's it. I am allergic to nature.

Last Sunday, X and I headed out to the beach nearby. After a bout of hemming and hawing, we proceeded to enter the water. Now Gold Coast waves are nothing like puny Peninsular Malaysian ones (though Malaysian seas are extra scary thanks to the opaque water and the chunks of rubbish floating about everywhere).

We splashed about a bit and X went off to body surf, while I stayed within waist deep water. I'm not exactly the best of swimmers and tend to run out of breath easily so I'm pretty cautious.

Wave after wave after wave. I ducked and leaped accordingly. Then a seemingly large one loomed ahead. It was getting bigger. Uh-oh, it wasn't breaking. I tried to duck.

I miscalculated.

The massive wave was about a foot or more taller than my petite 5'. Normally, the damage would be confined to some saltwater swallowed, possibly a bikini top undone and a momentary loss of dignity, but not me. I swerved to my right, with my right foot was caught in the sand at that very moment.

I landed on my immobilised right leg.

I was stunned by (and from) the pain. Logically, I knew I should have tried getting out of the water before getting struck by another wave. Physically, it was impossible. I pinched my nostrils and let the water carry me back to shore, where I then crawled back to our beach towels.

X continued splashing about, occasionally turning around to give me a smile. I waved back, not wanting to spoil his fun. After all, I was pretty sure the pain would eventually wear off.

Unfortunately, I still couldn't stand by the time we went home. After a few failed attempts at hobbling, X gave me a piggyback ride instead.

The pain the next morning was enough to ensure a visit to the Tweed Heads hospital. Thank God for Medicare. After several hours of waiting, prodding and poking, waiting, X-raying, waiting and bandaging, I emerged with crutches set two inches too high.

The verdict? Torn ligament. Though my nice doctor did mention that "if I've missed any minute fractures, the radiologist will call you".

They haven't called so far; I guess my record is still clean (never broken anything in my life, except my heart).

Having never sustained such a severe injury, I now realised that it affects the entire body. My armpits are bruised from resting on the crutches. My wrists are sore from balancing myself against walls, doors and ledges. My left knee is killing me - hobbling was too painful so I resorted to hopping around on one leg. Not a viable long term solution.

I've spent most of the week confined to the bed, with the cellphone, the housephone, the laptop and an assortment of junk food littered around me. X's No Eating In Bed rule has fortunately enough, been rescinded temporarily.

Getting up and down the stairs has proved to be an exhausting task, requiring all joints bent in funny angles, carefully coordinated lest I further damage my leg.

X has been patient and loving and even finds the time to take me out on drives (I have found the Wisteria Lane of Gold Coast! It's this amazing suburb in Elanora, just 10 minutes away, surrounded by a huge park and shimmering lake. Swoon)even though he suspects I'm exaggerating my injury to escape housework. He even loaned me some magazines from the library. Although he did get French ones by accident, it's the thought that counts.

Through sickness and through health indeed.