What a difference a day makes, twenty-four little hours. Well, that’s what Dinah Washington said in
her song, and until today I never had a reason to believe differently. Her version said the sun and the flowers came
where there used to be rain. I say there might be unpleasant surprises after an elderly person falls.
Yesterday around lunchtime I fell. Mine was a pretty soft landing compared to dozens
and dozens of stories I’ve heard from my friends and acquaintances. The side of my calf was sore for a few hours
and I felt sort of frazzled and over-tired by bedtime. Other than that, I considered myself unharmed.
Surprise. I woke up
at my usual time and went through my little routine. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I noticed I’d
slept uninterrupted (if you know what I mean) for at least two hours longer
than usual. Didn’t think much of it
except that it was a good thing. Getting
dressed was uneventful. When I stood up
and headed for the kitchen I forgot to grab my walker, though, and immediately
noticed I wasn’t quite as steady on my feet.
I didn’t fall, and I wasn’t dizzy or disoriented. I knew exactly where I was and what I was
doing. I just felt a bit wobbly.
Being me, I went back for the walker and brushed it off,
telling myself it would go away in a while.
At this point it had only been eighteen hours or so.
But lunchtime came and went. I was getting tired again, so I stretched out on the bed and had a little nap. Unusual but not unheard of in my case. Whatever, I told myself. Maybe it’ll take 36 hours or even 96 hours to recover fully. I won’t be driving again until I get over the wobbles, and I know my friends will appreciate that. My journey continues.
