It is probably a good thing that I have always carried substantial extra padding on my body. I am a klutz. Given the frequency with which I fall over my own feet, my body would be in shattered shards by now without the organic protective gear God gave me. Okay, maybe it was ice cream and not necessarily God’s design. I’ve always said that God can use even something awful to create something wonderful. I guess the fact that I am still standing reasonably upright most of the time is a testament to that philosophy.
This is not something new for me, so I can’t blame it primarily on aging. I agree that I need to be more careful as I perambulate around the planet since I do notice some slight changes in my physicality in the last year or two. It isn’t anything major, but those changes do exist. I know I am less agile. My bones and joints are less able to absorb shocks. My eyesight is not as sharp or as broad. My body more often seems like an alien entity quite removed from my brain. These small signs portend a day when the physical changes may become more limiting. I am also pretty sure that, at some point, I am likely to become more brittle. I will have a harder time bouncing instead of breaking.
Still, my klutziness has been a part of who I am for as long as I can remember. When most children learn to walk, climb stairs, jump, balance, and rearrange their bodies to do the darndest things, I learned to fall. It has been a valuable life skill.
When I was six, I fell off a jungle gym because, contrary to my brain’s perception, my arms were nowhere near long enough to swing from one monkey bar to another. When I was nine, I went to a roller-skating rink. I hugged the railing that surrounded the rink, inching myself, hand over hand, around the circle. I was not inclined to release the rail. At some point, I hit a traffic jam. Two older boys stopped in my way, ready to rumble. They were having a bit of a heated argument. I waited for them to finish their discussion and move away from MY railing. My hands needed inching room. After about an hour and a half- give or take 87 minutes- one of the boys reared back his arm to punch the other kid in the face. Unfortunately, I took that moment to release the rail to bravely try to go around the situation. In pulling back his arm, the puncher ended up elbowing me with enough force to send me toppling to the ground. I would have been fine if my butt had simply hit the floor. However, the other kid had also fallen, putting his roller skate wheel directly in the path of my arm. All the damage (which necessitated a traumatic and painful trip to the hospital) resulted from the collision between my wrist and the ill-placed roller skate wheel.
I didn’t grow out of this clumsiness of mine. Fortunately, I am blessed with pretty good bone density. I stopped breaking bones after age nine. I didn’t stop falling, however.
Max has called flip-flops my “fall down” shoes for years for rather obvious and embarrassing reasons. Despite some spectacular evidence that remaining upright while wearing flip-flops is not one of my talents, I went on wearing them for way too long. Finally, he convinced me that I might better preserve both my body and my dignity if I stuck to shoes that were not built to come off quite so easily. Now, I only wear flip flops to the beach. And, yes, I fell in them while at the beach.
Even after I retired the flip flops, my feet seem to have a mind of their own. Years ago, when making my daily visit to my mother in the skilled nurse facility where she resided during her end-of-life journey, I tripped on uneven concrete and smashed myself down onto the sidewalk. Not only did I go down, but so did the chocolate milkshake I was bringing for my mother. I was so disheartened and on the edge of a breakdown my mother, who was living in the shadowland of vascular dementia and had lost just about all her ability to process language, took one look at me and clearly and alarmedly said, “Go home!”
I fell a year or so ago when delivering food to the homebound. I somehow missed the last two steps backwards when descending the steps to a client’s mobile home. The poor gentleman was horrified and insisted I come in so he could doctor my wound with Neosporin and ply me with hydration. I am so glad I have the opportunity to serve.
Last week, I encountered my latest fall from grace. I say that because I definitely fell without grace. I was hurrying back into the house from the garage after taking out the trash. Something in me snapped and I had a moment of absolute irrational panic. A fight or flight response took over my brain and it compelled me to rush madly back inside the house, completely missing the small step that loomed between me and safety. I caught the tip of my shoe on the step, which launched me directly into the drywall and hall closet door that is directly across from the garage door. That was not good enough for me, though. I am not your everyday klutz. I had to earn a score of 10 in clumsiness. I ricocheted off the closet door and was propelled to the ceramic floor tile. I am happy to report that the tile survived the onslaught.
Max heard my crashing and crumpling but could not see me. He called out, “are you okay?” My subdued, muffled, out-of-body “no” brought him running to me. I don’t think he expected to see me on the floor. This little unintentional gymnastic move caused me to twist my waist, hit my head on both the closet door and ceramic tile, smash my arm against the drywall, tweak my shoulders, and become aware of parts of my body I did not know I had. I lay on the ground for a few minutes, trying to regain my equilibrium and sense of self. Finally, I asked Max to bring a kitchen chair over to me so that I could use it to pull myself to a standing position once more.
When I was upright, I took a more disimpassioned inventory of my injuries. I realized I had escaped without any significant harm. I just couldn’t seem to talk or even think. All I could do was feel- feel old, feel stupid, feel scared, feel unappealing. As the emotional tide began to rise, I could sense the tears beginning to form. The defeated feeling was familiar- I remembered it well from the Fall of the Milkshake outside the skilled nursing facility. I felt helpless and hopeless. Max could see that I was hurt in the personality, but I could not respond to his questions. He finally asked gently, “are you a little bit scared?” He hit the nail on the head as surely as I hit my head on the floor. With a llittle acknowledgement and a little cuddling, I was okay.
I did expect that I would feel worse a day or two afterwards. However, a few days have passed, and I still don’t feel too injured. I have a little stiffness, but no concussion or headache or anything like that. Heck, I don’t even have any bruises. I am a notorious late bruiser, however, so they may still be coming.
However, it is trippy how talented a tripper I am!
Have an upright day!
Terri/Dorry 😊
What is your superpower? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.