I Had An Oopsy
It’s 10pm Friday night. I’ve yet to check my email, but I’m also yet to eat dinner. Where did the day go? So much achieved. Even voted early. Without queuing, the few benefits to having a disability. Don’t gotta queue.
But even more important, on Monday I had a fall. AGAIN! This time when I was out in the city, without a carer escorting me. I had been attending some training at the brain injury group I had only weeks ago stepped down from. The training was Mental Health First Aid. If you need talking off a ledge, “Don’t call us!” Had a bit of an emotional day. Then upon leaving later in the afternoon I continued a beaten path heading north along DeGraves Street, a laneway known for its cafes and a path I’ve trodden since the 90’s at least once a week, in the last 15 years once a month. Where the laneway goes up into an arcade to Collins Street there are four steps with handrails, of which I take the middle one and take the steps right/left/right/left.
Although this time something went wrong. The second step I have to only guess, my left leg gave out on me and I fell down. On my right there were three punk kids. Well, I would guess early twenties and more importantly, old enough to know and do better. But they didn’t! When I fell, I landed on my knees, my right hand on the heel of my hand, although unscathed and I landed on my tummy. Weirdly, never going to complain again about getting the version of menopause of getting fat around the middle not skinny.
My issue with muscle memory being a myth is for another day, also that the late spring weather in Melbourne has seen me wearing half summer on my bottom half and at times full winter on my top half, I was in my red fury Raver jacket which gave me padding and helped protect me.
But alas, landing unexpectedly as I did my tummy felt sick, my knees both hurt and having the feeling someone was breathing down my neck and I needed to get out of the way of anyone coming up behind me I dragged myself off to the side. I later realise how shit this line of thinking was that I believed nobody would come to my aide and that I might instead be left to fend to myself. Like a five-year-old, I felt sick, in shock and close to tears I rolled over onto my bum and pulled my messenger bag around to my right side. I wear it on my left shoulder, so it sits on my right hip. Bit of a legend it had not fallen off.
I did need a moment and fought the desire to cry. In front of me, rushing up to me were three tiny, seriously petite ladies. They gathered around and spoke fluent Chinese to each other to help me get up. I pulled myself up using my right hand, but my whole body was like a stiff board, I couldn’t even bend my knees to get my feet under me. One of the ladies moved around behind me and lifted me to help, another tried to hand me my stick.
What happened to the three punk kids? Big fat nothing! If I see them there again I’ll be giving them a piece of my mind. I later messaged a friend and he told me not to worry about those douchebags and that is now how I think of them.
Even once standing I wanted to take a moment to get myself back together, but I also had the mindset, I had to keep walking to get to my goal. I was aiming for the tram on Bourke Street Mall destined north. The whole way I noticed sad looks from people in suits making me think I must have looked like I was about to cry and I thought I’d managed to shake it off. Got to the tram, got a seat my knees hurting. Thirty minutes on the tram and I was home. Once upstairs in my apartment, I pulled up my right pants leg and had skinned it slightly. Days later I was nursing a nasty bruise. Two days later my chiropractor was not happy with what I had managed to do to myself.
Later that day I had X-Ray of my right hand to rule out the Trigger Thumb my GP had arranged and my left wrist to see if I’d damaged my wrist.
My Friday carer checked the x-ray as I’d been messaged the link. Had I logged in the password might have been “Thisfuckingthing!” She diagnosed me as having 5 fingers! Obviously, 4 fingers and a thumb, I pointed out the slight gap between my first knuckle of my thumb and my hand. The pain in my thumb rhymes with Mothertrucker! If you think about all the things, you might auto-pilot using your thumb. You find using your thumb for everything, including the remote control. It’s just not right! To be continued.
I’m writing this early Monday morning; I know my carer will ask me if I’ve a quieter week this week. It’s a negative and my laptop could be in its final death throes so my future “Go Fund Me” is now Priority No 1, along with everything else only I can do. Keep an eye out for that.