I'm Falling, oh, yes, I'm Falling...

It has occurred to me recently that I have reached the tender age where falling is probably very dangerous and possibly even fatal.  I remember when I was about eight or nine, the mother of one of my friends fell and hit her head on the side of a garbage can.   She brushed it off as nothing, until a few hours later she became very ill and lost consciousness.  She was rushed to hospital, but never regained consciousness and passed away a week later.  At the time, I thought she was very, very old.  She was 34.  Falls can be deadly at any age, and according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, 230,000 workers are injured, some fatally, due to trips, slips and falls each year.  Even children can be injured or killed by falls.  The majority of falls, however, happen in the home.  The most common place for falls?  Your kitchen, bedroom or bathroom.

Last weekend I was watering the plants on my terrace.  Just as I was stepping over the sill, with a full watering can in my hand, my foot caught on the sill.  In what seemed like slow motion, I headed face-first towards the big, heavy Adirondack chairs.  I managed to twist to the side so I didn't hit head-on, and the arm of the chair left a distinct mark on my cheek, from my ear to my chin.  I landed on my right arm, still holding the full watering can in my left hand.  Not a drop of water spilled.  I managed to pull myself together, albeit a bit shaky, and carried on with my day.  For a couple of days I felt fine.  And then on Wednesday it hit me with a whammy.  I had injured myself much more seriously than I had realized, and my injuries were talking to me.  A lot.

At first I thought it was just a bruise, but there was nothing there.  It was deep inside, and it hurt to cough, sneeze ... breathe.  I couldn't sit up and I couldn't lie down.  Going to the bathroom ... well, we won't even go there.  That's when I discovered that a heating pad and drugs -- lots and lots of drugs -- were my friend.  The nurses where I work gave me some very special over-the-counter pain killers.  I was immobile -- and stoned.  But not in pain.  At least, not until the drugs wore off.  My philosophy has always been that if something lasts for more than three or four days, it's time to see a doctor.  Thankfully, this morning I got out of bed, went to put my slippers on and felt something go *pop* in my back.  And then the pain was gone.  I am now pain-free and drug-free.

This has been quite the summer for being wounded in my home.  I was stung four times by wasps, I burned my hand on the convection oven, I stubbed my toe on my heavy leather chesterfield, and I tripped and went flying on my balcony.

By very, very careful out there.  Home can be a dangerous place.