I Stumbled Again! November 17, 2014
When I broke my hand, I did not fall, I
broke my hand by hitting a wooden stool with my very own fist.
Last
Sunday I gathered myself to walk around the neighborhood. I try to do this daily. It is about a twenty-minute safari,
considerably longer when I stop and chat with a neighbor. I enjoy the exercise and the chats as
well. When my day is empty, the
exercise and over the fence conversations keep my spirit light.
As I sit
to write I recall, I put on the proper shoes, fixed the brace on my hand, put
keys and Kleenex in my pocket and I headed out. My walker was in place outside my door, I reached for it and I
went down. I have no idea what
happened, no one was there to trip or impede me. Later I found a small rock that may have been the tripping
stone. I landed squarely on my
back…ouch that hurt. Because I suffer
no severe pain, my friend Karen and I decided that I did not need the doctor. She, who is seriously tuned to Eastern
medicine, suggested some herbal meds that she could supply. I have tried them and they do take the edge
off the aches. One more day before I
turn to aspirin or its substitute.
Falling at
my age is a double-whammy. In the first
place, I do not want to fall and incapacitate myself secondly, it seems weird
that I am so very careful about a fall, I write and caution everyone else about
falling then out of the blue I went down.
Did I lose my concentration, was my mind wandering, did I take a step
without thinking? A friend said, “Get
over it, it happens.”
I have not
time to be incapacitated. I still have much to do. I also must not be afraid to move, lest I fall. It is just another catch-22 or damned if you
do and damned if you do not. It is a an
insult to me when I fall, I act and write as if I know exactly how NOT to fall,
yet every couple of years I take a spill, despite my “good intentions”.
I am not
afraid of death; I am also not ready, yet!
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