Yes, it’s that time of year when the leaves drop like flies; and no, this column isn’t about that. Nor is it about falling in love, falling in with a “bad” crowd or falling grades, etc.
What I want to talk about is the simple act of falling.
All my life I’ve been developing a fair amount of experience with it. Santa Claus put a “klutz” badge in my stocking one year. He could also have been referring to my habit of dropping things, but I’ll leave that other nasty aspect of gravity for another day.
Looking back—something we older folks may be prone to do (although I tend to reflect while sitting up), I blame my tendency to fall on many sprained ankles from basketball. It could also have been the years of ballet or my absurd efforts at skating, but I prefer to blame my doomed attempts at becoming a basketball star.
This year I’ve fallen several times, not counting the near misses on ice-plagued streets. All of the actual falls can be attributed to klutziness, weaker ankles and a general lack of balance when my body goes one way and my feet prefer to go another.
To prevent any possible feeling of being overwhelmed or getting incredibly bored, I’ll give you just two examples. You may thank me any time.
The first started innocently enough. This spring I was looking at the last beams of the last full moon before it took a vacation until the return of the dark. I sighed at the loveliness and turned to go back to bed. Somehow my big toe on one leg got caught in the cuff of my favourite PJs on the other. With my forward momentum already engaged, down I went.
You know the saying, “The bigger they are, the harder they fall”? Blast those extra pounds! The floor shook and either the shaking or my curses frightened my husband and my cat out of their respective wits. My knees and wrists and ankles were sore for many days. I couldn’t even exercise—proving the truth of a different saying about silver linings.
The next episode took place at a campground in broad daylight. I had found a good spot that people were just leaving. With their permission, I set up a chair, to indicate that the site had been taken, before I trekked off to get the registration forms. The people leaving called to me with one last thought and I turned towards them. Somehow—somehow!—my foot got overbalanced and down I went on a bed of gravel. The earth didn’t shake, but I sure did.
I would like to know how one knee can get all bloody while the pants remain unscathed except for blood spatters on the inside. Serious maiming was avoided, but those injuries, plus bruises and a wrist strain, took a while to heal (check previous note about silver linings and exercise).
Those of you who worry about the cost of seniors to the medical system need not be concerned. My doctor never heard the slightest whine about these injuries—unlike my friends, my husband and the cat. I do try to include balance exercises when I exercise, although the scarcity of the latter occasions reduces the effectiveness of the former.
I hereby promise not to resume my career in ballet, and I will definitely eschew basketball (except to watch when Canada is playing). I will shorten the hems on all my PJs and housecoats and nightgowns. Given my experience with dropping things, as well as with falling, I promise to turn on a light whenever I venture out of bed at night in the dark, and the lights will not be candles, as “tuck, drop and roll” is not advice that is really helpful at my age.
I will carry antibiotic ointment and large bandages whenever I’m faced with the possibility of a grave gravel encounter. I will check the internet and local resources for reputable recommendations on balancing activities that appeal to me, such as tai chi or YouTube videos. I will also check federal and provincial government websites for more information on fall-proofing my living quarters, as well as other things I can do to avoid further incidents.
There! That should do for now. Have a fall-free autumn, everyone.
