Before reading this, note that I have changed some names and details, just because.
It could always have been worse.
I couldn't believe it. Honestly. How could I be doing this again?
Falling over. BAM.
I'd survived the five hour journey to arrive there, unaccompanied, by train. Just me, an overnight bag, and my walking stick. Visiting with family, after a nice lunch, a birthday celebration, and a fun catch up with long lost relatives, we are all heading back to my brother's home for the evening.
And then, just like *that* there I was, laying on the grass, left foot weirdly tucked under a drain pipe. I mean, reeeallly? Have I become one of those old people who's always tripping on things? Like my own feet? It's certainly not that I want my toes to connect with the lip of a stair, to miss a step, or be caught in a hole. And I didn't do anything to make my feet go numb. Not even a sip of Uncle Alf's home brew.
But my feet just weren't there. Well, they didn't feel like they were there. That's a hard thing to explain, of course my feet were there. I can see them, I can touch them. So could you (if you were a bit weird and wanted to I suppose). They are visible, they just don't actually do anything properly, but they do try - and sometimes they fail to achieve. They were excellent once. But what they were is no longer what they are. Sigh ...
Nervous because of a previous bad sprain and an ankle that hadn't fully recovered, I was determined that this time it would heal, and fast. That 'already-large-and-puffy' ankle really bothers me, it's not pretty. And I did like my feet well enough before that first fall. The whole perfectly lovely relationship I had with both of my feet was RUINED with one bad decision - to stand up when I had pins and needles in my left foot. Bad bad baddddd idea. BAM.
This time, all I remember is the horrible realisation that there was nothing I could do, I was falling down, on the same foot as before. It was just 'oh nooooo' and BAM. Oww. Luckily it hasn't turned out to be that bad. Worrying, but nothing broken. And what a bonus, it was the same foot as I'd injured before! Funny how that feels like a good thing - aah yes I am grateful for small mercies these days, at least I have one foot that looks decent!
Worst of all, is that the people with me felt responsible. I can't fix that, I feel dreadful that that's how it is, but I also understand that it's just natural, I'd be the same if the shoe was on the other foot. (And yes that's a fantastic pun by yours truly). I also know for absolute certain that nothing but my stupid MS is to blame. Trust me, I could trip over a tissue - there's this evil accomplice that sits on my shoulder everywhere I go, he's invisible and I can't feel him, but for pure amusement he will give me a hearty shove whenever there's a chance of a successful plummet to the ground. He thrives on the glorious element of surprise.
Actually I do blame myself, I know what's possible and I sometimes forget to be extra careful. Plus there's the walking stick. Maybe it's just me, but carrying that stick around is a nuisance.
So I'm going to invest in one of those fold-up sticks. They scare me a bit, the folding sticks, I mean, isn't there a possibility that they could collapse? All of a sudden? And BAM? My feet + a collapsible walking stick - surely a BAM just waiting to happen?
I really really don't want to fall again. So unless I lock myself in the house I'll need a walking aid of some sort. Dammit.
Time now to mull this all over, so until I hobble back to this blog with an update on my sorry tale - please take care of your feet, and watch where they're going as best you can (they can be tricky, I know!)
(*^ Names and certain particulars in the above article have been changed to protect the innocent!)