Bodacious Boomer

I twisted my knee last night and it’s hurts like a banshee. After last night I now know what I need for Christmas. I don’t really want it and probably not use it if I had it. It’s Life Alert. You know the gadget that goes with the tagline “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!” ? I’m surprised that Life Alert hasn’t contacted me to be their spokesperson. I don’t know what it is with me, but ever since I turned about 50 I can’t seem to walk and chew gum at the same time without falling. Forget about the gum chewing. I can’t seem to walk without falling.

In my defense, I did have an inner ear infection that went undiagnosed for a couple of years and kept my internal gyroscope from working properly.  No one was able to figure out what was wrong until I’d lost about 70% of my hearing on the right. The audiologist actually figured out what was wrong, who then told the ENT. Then it was decided that I needed to have a tube put in on the right. It was done in his office with me awake. DO NOT LET THEM DO THIS TO YOU! After my cursing had subsided, the doctor said “That’s why we never tell adults how much it will hurt. No one would sign the consent if we did.” To be honest, cutting the eardrum itself didn’t hurt at all. The vacuuming of the fluid and the insertion of the tube make me speak in a language I’d never heard before. On the plus side, my hearing was restored and I fell less.

A bad fall was in Boca Raton at dog park. I was walking Kiwi, our husky, back to the car. I wasn’t watching where I was going and stepped off the side of the path. It was just a drop of a few inches. But it was enough for me to fall. Down I went to the asphalt- to my knees, then to my face. (On the plus side, I kept a hold of the leash).  My face was bloody when I got to the car. The Greek festival was opening within an hour. I was working with kids while holding an ice bag to my split lip and scraped nose. You should’ve seen the looks Doug got all weekend, since people assumed he’d punched me in the face.

About 6 years ago, I had my most magnificent fall. I fell all the way down our wooden stairs from the top to the bottom, going splat onto the tile in the entry. Amanda was out. Doug was in our bedroom upstairs with the door closed watching sports. He had no idea I’d fallen. I remember laying there, face down, tasting blood. I also remember thinking- I don’t want the paramedics coming in. I haven’t cleaned my house all week. Doug saw me all spradled out on the floor about 10 minutes later when he left our room to go to the kitchen. I knew better than to attempt to move, but did anyway. I guess God watches over fools, because nothing was broken. Doug helped me upstairs then went to buy a couple of icebags. (I guess we were out of frozen peas). While Doug was out, Amanda came home and found me on the bed bleeding, swollen and bruised. “Your dad went crazy”. I told her with an earnest look on my face. She stood there nonplussed, never ever having seen her dad exhibit any kind of violent behavior. Right away I told her that I was just kidding. But I was severely admonished with a  “Not funny!”. I still have a couple of scars from that one. Now we live in a 1-story house.

Two weeks ago I fell again. This time on our back patio when I went out to check on the dogs. Apparently Blondie or her sis left a smallish piece of firewood on the patio. I didn’t look down and by not doing so down I went again. This time – knees, then butt, then forearm. Doug was in the office; I was outside laying on the wet pea gravel. I yelled for a minute, then gave up and just laid there. Eventually, I girded up my loins, rolled to my side and pushed myself up. There have numerous other falls as well, just not as grand. No wonder my poor knees are shot.

Lucky for me the rest of me is healthy ( my insides, that is). I’ve thought perhaps of just wrapping myself with a giant roll of bubble wrap every day. However, I fear when I sit down it would sound like a gangland massacre. I’ve even considered hanging tires all the way around me like on a tug boat, but then I’d be too big to sit on the furniture or in the car. Just what’s a middle-aged klutzy woman to do?