There was a period in my life when falling down had become common place to me. As far back as 4 years old, I can remember running after my Mother and falling on the concrete walkway, skinning both of my knees. As I sat with bloodied knees on my Mothers' lap and cried, I remember her comforting me. Do I remember this because it was so traumatic for a 4 year old, or would this be the start of a lifelong pattern?
It was a number of years that had passed before I took another big fall. . .this time at my engagement party. The party was held in my parents basement, which meant that all the food had to be carted down the basement stairs. I had on a pair of white high heels and all day long I listened to my Mother say, "Take off those shoes, you're going to fall...take off those damn shoes, you're going to fall.". How could I take off the shoes, they went with the outfit!! And of course after having it drummed into my head for hours, I did indeed fall. Tumbling head first down the basement stairs as I carried a large glass platter of ham and a smaller one of butter. My Dad was sitting at a table in the basement and saw me start to go down, but was unable to do anything since the fall was already in progress. The platters went down first and shattered on the concrete floor...I soon followed with a full somersault motion, landing spread eagle on the broken platters and about an inch away from a basement support pole. As I sat up, I noticed that the white high heels were gone from my feet. Had they fallen off as I fell? No...my Mother had ripped them off my feet as I lay on the basement floor, and that was the last I had ever seen of them. Well, she did warn me that I would fall!!!
As I was helped up, I looked down and noticed that my dress was covered in blood...when I landed, my hand hit the broken glass and I had a deep gash from my thumb toward my wrist. My engagement party ended with a visit to the emergency room and a number of stitches in my hand. It was very surprising that I didn't break any bones, and had only lost a pair of shoes in the process.
My next major tumble took place at Niagara Falls, Canada. This was a very popular destination for us for many years. On one occasion, we were walking down Clifton Hill, which is a very busy street lined with gardens, tourist shops, tour buses, and of course, tourists. And it is indeed a hill!
My ensemble for that day included a halter top, wide leg slacks, and a pair of high wedged sandals...the emphasis is on 'high'! A hideous outfit to say the least, let alone one in which to do a dramatic roll into the street. Yes, I had literally fallen off my shoe and tumbled into the street directly in front of a stopped tour bus...I could almost see the tourists snapping my picture as I scooped myself up in total embarrassment and rushed back to the curb! The only thing worse would have been if my halter top had come off. Again, nothing broken except my pride!
At an upscale department store in a local shopping mall, I was just passing the makeup counters when my ankle gave way and down I went. Embarrassed, I picked myself up and of course did the 'look back' to see what had tripped me, then continued on my way...a few feet later, I went down AGAIN! The utter humiliation!
This wasn't the first time that I had fallen in that mall. On an earlier shopping excursion I had tripped (on what, I have no idea), and slid on my knees across the mall concourse like a Broadway dancers big finale. How did I ever get up the momentum to slide that far? I looked up, and out of nowhere, a security guard was asking me if I was 'ok'...do I look 'OK'?.
We had attended a Cub Scout Rally at Old Fort Niagara quite a few years ago when we were involved in scouting. I was walking along side a ditch (now you'd think that by this time I would know better than to walk along side a ditch...here's an accident waiting to happen), with my husband and friends, just chatting, when somehow I lost my footing and tumbled into the ditch...one minute I was talking and the next minute I was rolling. There was no sympathy from anyone, just laughter. Of course, this could have been an opportunity for a scout to work on his first aid merit badge.
When I went back to work, I got a position as a receptionist ('Greeter' was the official term which I always hated because it sounded like someone from a prom committee), in a car dealership. In the showroom was what they called a 'podium', but which was in fact a desk at the top of 3 carpeted stairs. One afternoon as I started to walk down the steps, the heel of my shoe got caught on the rug. As I started to fall down the stairs, I grabbed onto my chair...unfortunately, the chair was on rollers...oh yes, I took it right down with me. The salesmen that were standing there just looked at me. A little help here, please!
Another fall I took at work was going up the stairs to my office while I was holding a mug of coffee. I almost made it to the top, but as my foot touched the step, it stopped, but I kept going. I tried not to spill the coffee which I think made the fall worse than it might have been if I had just gone with the falling action. When I hit the floor, I also hit the office door and the metal door frame, with my head...as I lay there in a puddle of coffee, the door suddenly opened and there was my boss, who was having a meeting at the time, saying 'Oh my God, it's Carole!'. Now I knew that I took a hard hit to my head because it really hurt and I could feel an indentation in it. They sat me on a chair and started to ask me questions to see if I was coherent. I figured that it would be a good idea to get some x-rays taken just to make sure that I didn't have a concussion. When I made the decision to go to the emergency room, they told me that I also had to go for a drug test, just to make sure that drugs weren't the cause of my fall. Well, that's a story in itself...a first time drug test! Anyway, I ended up with a contusion and after all of this, didn't even break the mug.
Recently, at a family picnic in a beautiful county park, I took my sons' dog, Traveler, for a walk across a large meadow. Traveler is a 100 pound Alaskan Malamute, and the sweetest dog that you'd ever want to meet!! I knew that he had to take a dump, so, geared with my little plastic 'poopie' bag, I volunteered to take him. We walked around the perimeter of the meadow near the trees, but all he was interested in was getting some sniffing time in. When we neared the road, he finally took up his 'dump stance' and proceeded to do his business as I encouraged him..."What a good boy Traveler is!!!". After he finished, my encouragement must have really sunk in because he started to run circles around me, frantically, as fast as he could. Little did I know, everyone was watching and commenting on what Traveler was doing to me. I tried in vain to halt his run, but when I couldn't, I bent over to try and pick up the shit with my little bag because I figured that he was going to run right through it. The next thing I knew, I was hurled into the air. You know that feeling when something is happening that you can't believe and you can't do anything about it? Well, that's how I felt. I could feel him run under me and I was afraid that I would fall on top of him. I landed on my side with my one foot flat on the ground and the leash still around my wrist. As I looked to the side where the picnic was, I saw my son, Eric, slowly walking toward me. I was puzzled as to why he was walking so slowly, but later found out that he was afraid that if he ran, Traveler would run to him with me in tow. I sat up, started to move body parts just to make sure that they worked, and then got up, no worse for wear...at least that's what I thought. The next day I could hardly move...everywhere on my body hurt! My son made me feel so much better when he told me that people from the road were watching what had happened. It took months for the pain in my shoulder and foot to go away. A lesson learned...NEVER try to pick up dog shit when the dog is celebrating his dump!
I often wonder if all of these falls over the years were perhaps the result of klutziness...or were they the manifestation of depression and low self-esteem? Or, maybe it's as simple as being so wrapped up in where I'm going...what I'm doing...what I'm looking at...who I'm talking to, that I don't pay attention to how or where I'm walking (shoes play a big part in this too). Whatever the reason, I've never broken a single bone, and for that, I feel very lucky...BUT, one day I'll probably disintegrate into a heap of bones because of 'retroactive breakage'.
