Hello everyone!
If you are friends with me on Facebook...and seriously, why aren't you...then you already know I fell down this week.
People of my age...and weight class...spend a lot of time and energy trying to NOT fall down. When you're little and cute and you fall, everyone says, "Aww, did you fall down. Let me help you up."
That changes DRASTICALLY, when you reach your 50's and you're no longer what anyone would call, "little" or "cute."
Here's the story:
As with most things in my life, this story takes place at Sam's, where I'm about to pick up a prescription for Skippy. (This was a winning week at the Bradley house. Four trips to the pharmacy in three days...yeah, there's nothing wrong with the state of mental health care in America. Anyway, this was trip number four, and the second of day (actually, the second of the HOUR) Hubby had already been three times in the week, so Peaches and I said we'd go, pick up the newest meds and maybe some other fun stuff.
We got there, grabbed a cart, picked up a few items and were about to head to the pharmacy where they know me so well that I can check out a few more than "one or two" items right there. I think we had five items in the cart as we passed the big open coolers where they sell berries and grapes. I decided we needed some raspberries so I turned (without saying anything to Peaches) to my right.
I thought I was fully behind Peaches, who was pushing the cart, but no. I was not. I stepped on Peaches' flip flop as she was in mid step. Horrified, thinking I'd stepped on her foot, I lifted my foot quickly, stumbled, and went sprawling to the concrete floor.
Now, at this point, I'm facing the concrete, so I can't see what's going on behind me and Peaches can't tell if I'm conscious or not. She looked around, she said, for a strong dude to come help, you know, because there's no way she's strong enough to heft me off the floor. No one was nearby, except...one...woman.
For a moment.
That woman, according to Peaches, too one look at my daintily splayed body and abandoned her cart, diving quickly into the liquor aisle and out of sight. Peaches says she's pretty sure the woman left her purse behind, such was her rush to NOT help.
Fortunately, however, I was able to get back to my feet. My left knee was pretty scraped up, but I seemed to be okay otherwise. Nothing seemed broken. I was so grateful I could still move on my own, I don't even think I felt all that much embarrassed. Which is funny because there's no way I shouldn't be completely shamed by this.
Anyway, we got to the pharmacy where Silver, (Not his real name) the young pharma tech commented that this was our family's second trip there...(yeah, dude, we know.) That's when I hobbled up on my soap box briefly about mental health care in this country. I can't yell at Silver too much though. That dude is actually really helpful.
By the time we got home, however, I realized something was clearly not happy with my knee. Well, I mean, not so much my knee as the knee pit (which is what the kids called it when they were little.) I couldn't bend it. I couldn't put weight on it. Getting up from a chair, or, THE THRONE, was unbelievably painful.
Sleeping was NOT in the cards for me Wednesday night. Every move and shift was horrible.
Thursday morning I got up and, with the aid of leaning on all my furniture (I'm never in my LIFE been so thankful I live in a small house) I managed to get around. Getting dressed was...an event. I couldn't bend my left leg AT ALL and I couldn't bend at the waist to get something of the floor. So, this is how I put on my shorts:
I set them on the floor and kicked the leg holes open as wide as I could. I stepped into the leg holes (holding myself up with one hand on the dresser and one on the bed) and slipper my toes under the bottom hem of each leg. The I hoisted my right foot up, which brought the shorts up my left leg, and I grabbed the waist band with my right hand before my left leg gave out completely.
Oh yeah, and thank goodness for slip on shoes. Because socks, shoelaces, and velcro sandal straps were NOT HAPPENING.
Hubby gave me a round of applause for getting my shorts on without his help. So there's that.
Fortunately for me, Hubby used to make really nice walking sticks. We still had one in the garage. I used that to navigate around the house, often "Yoda style," on Thursday and part of Friday.
As long as I was moving, it was stiff and sore, but I could move. The minute I sat down for work for longer than a couple minutes, when I got up...great horrible screams. Same with getting off the couch.
By Friday morning I was much better and today, while my knee is stiff and there's still a lot of soreness on the back of my leg, I managed to do the Farmer's Market and go grocery shopping. Hubby, once again, is my knight in shining armor. He did the laundry this week and has helped me stay in motion to loosen up the muscles.
Here's hoping that's it for drama. Hubby leaves for the mountains this weekend and, readers of this blog know, the big drama usually happens around here when he's away. But, Skippy is back into his normal routine, Peaches is moving forward again, and I've already had my injury. We should be good.
Oh yeah. We totally got this. What else could POSSIBLY go wrong?
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