Gail and I just got back from our Sunday grocery romp. She generally grabs a couple bags from the trunk and watches me as I toddle with my cane up the front steps and through the door. Then, I keep the dogs at bay as she goes back out to get the rest of the bags.
As she came in, I held the door open for her, and I felt a sharp “ice-pick” of pain in the right side of my noggin. I stepped backwards to allow her to enter. (I can hear Dr. Grill right now — “NEVER STEP BACKWARDS!”)
I lost my balance. But I held on to the doorknob with my left hand…
I kept falling anyway, but now it was more of a controlled descent until my butt landed on a chair we have positioned by the hallway near the front door. No harm, no foul.
I suppose I should enter it into my “fall journal” just to be fair.
But first, I’m gonna go lay down for awhile.
Been awhile since I’ve showed you folks how unbalanced I am. Physically, that is. Mentally, well, you can pretty much judge that by what I write.
But here’s a video I shot this afternoon of me doing my PT “balance” exercises. Notice the quotation marks around the word “balance.”
Enjoy. And please, laugh quietly. I have feelings, ya know…
I was doing my PT balance exercises in the kitchen, and I noticed that I was particularly wobbly, even doing the easy stuff like two feet together, side-by-side. Felt like I was gonna fall. Knocked the plastic flowers and their vase off the counter.
So I decided to go into the bedroom, so if I fell it would be onto something soft. Like a bed. Or a dog.
I did the one-foot-half-in-front-of-the-other thingie. Closed my eyes, crossed my arms over my chest, and immediately began to wobble. I over-corrected from a lean to the right and fell to my left. Right onto the bed. Right onto a dog on the bed. And the back of my head crashed into the bedroom wall with a loud “WHUMP!”
I said the only thing I could think of.
From the bathroom, Gail hollered, “Are you all right?”
I said, “Yeah,” and flopped back on the bed, closing my eyes so the room would stop spinning.
I didn’t lose consciousness. But for a little while it was more difficult than usual to speak.
I’m still wobbly, still moving slower than I usually do, but I think I will be OK.
So will the wall.