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A few hours later I was obviously getting worse so, unusually for that time when the local doctor was regarded almost with reverence and, certainly, utter respect, Mum decided to insist on a second opinion from our own doctor's partner in the practice. Just as well she did; I was 'blue-lighted' (probably just a clanging bell on the ambulance in those days in fact) to the local infirmary in a coma where osteomyelitis was diagnosed and my parents' permission was sought to amputate my leg in an effort to save my life.
One final roll of the dice was suggested - treatment with a relatively-new wonder of the medical world called 'penicillin'. Problem was, they were told, I might react badly to the stuff and, if so, that would very much be the end of that. No prizes for guessing how my system did react and they were consequently able to stabilise my condition, operate on the femur to deal with the osteomyelitis and, happy to report, save my leg, thus enabling me to take up motorcycling etc some years later. I'm a fan of penicillin.
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