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A Little Nudge
Mar. 14th, 2006 12:51 pmI'm going to write about something incredibly small in a day's passing...
Last Friday I spent the night at Maggie and Ray's house, enjoying myself immensely by hanging with that incredibly smart and sweet woman. Oh - and talented. (I couldn't figure out which adjective was best of the three so you get all of them.) That night I learned that "the Dog Whisperer" is actually a pretty darn good show and helps folks train their dogs. And he really is a 'whisperer'. I also learned a bit about leatherwork and had shoes cut out that fit me without me having to figure out how to make a pattern. Man, that was wonderful.
On Saturday morning, I followed her down the stairs to view her newly-redone studio, which she had single-handedly converted from 'old family room' to 'come create here'... and I fell down the stairs. Caught one foot on the second-to-the-last step, folded at the knees and fell directly onto them from a height taller than it would have been standing. Right onto a linoleum-covered cement floor. It hurt. And was embarrassing. And I'm so very glad it happened.
"Huh?", you say? "You're glad?"
Yes, I am. For years now, I have been afraid while moving. Pre-surgery, it was fear that an action would cause the pain in my back to return or intensify. Post-surgery, it was recovery pain and the knowledge that I was vulnerable. For a long time, I would not have been able to get up from the ground if I had fallen. I was afraid that a good jar would break the surgical site and collapse the implanted discs or the rods would go haring off someplace else and damage organs or the nerve bundle of my spine. Afraid. It wasn't a logical fear but it was one based on experience. I thought it was my future and I resented it even as I accepted it. Well. So. I fell. And maggie let me get myself up without aid. And I did that. My knees hurt, but the heavens didn't blacken, 911 wasn't called, and there are no MRIs in my future. Actually, there's not even a bruise (and I know I hit hard enough that there should have been). Two days later, except for the impact on my mind, there's no evidence it ever happened.
And I needed that. Guess Those Above decided it was time to teach me a new lesson.
Last Friday I spent the night at Maggie and Ray's house, enjoying myself immensely by hanging with that incredibly smart and sweet woman. Oh - and talented. (I couldn't figure out which adjective was best of the three so you get all of them.) That night I learned that "the Dog Whisperer" is actually a pretty darn good show and helps folks train their dogs. And he really is a 'whisperer'. I also learned a bit about leatherwork and had shoes cut out that fit me without me having to figure out how to make a pattern. Man, that was wonderful.
On Saturday morning, I followed her down the stairs to view her newly-redone studio, which she had single-handedly converted from 'old family room' to 'come create here'... and I fell down the stairs. Caught one foot on the second-to-the-last step, folded at the knees and fell directly onto them from a height taller than it would have been standing. Right onto a linoleum-covered cement floor. It hurt. And was embarrassing. And I'm so very glad it happened.
"Huh?", you say? "You're glad?"
Yes, I am. For years now, I have been afraid while moving. Pre-surgery, it was fear that an action would cause the pain in my back to return or intensify. Post-surgery, it was recovery pain and the knowledge that I was vulnerable. For a long time, I would not have been able to get up from the ground if I had fallen. I was afraid that a good jar would break the surgical site and collapse the implanted discs or the rods would go haring off someplace else and damage organs or the nerve bundle of my spine. Afraid. It wasn't a logical fear but it was one based on experience. I thought it was my future and I resented it even as I accepted it. Well. So. I fell. And maggie let me get myself up without aid. And I did that. My knees hurt, but the heavens didn't blacken, 911 wasn't called, and there are no MRIs in my future. Actually, there's not even a bruise (and I know I hit hard enough that there should have been). Two days later, except for the impact on my mind, there's no evidence it ever happened.
And I needed that. Guess Those Above decided it was time to teach me a new lesson.
