For those of you new to my blog, I'll briefly recap my falls:
Twenty years ago I fell down a flight of stairs and landed directly on the base of my spine, sustaining a very (and I mean very) nasty injury.
I vowed it would never happen again.
Last winter, when I first moved to Tennessee, I fell on the ice twice - landing on the exact same spot of my spine. It's now a year later and I still have pain and trouble walking.
I vowed it would never happen again.
The mountain terrain on my property is all slopes and angles - there's not a level spot. It's treacherous when there's ice or rain. Hell, it's treacherous even on a dry day. I now use extreme caution whenever I walk outside, and I also use a walking stick.
Today was a rare dry day - no ice, no rain. But there is mud.
Need I go any farther? You can already guess what happened.
I walked out to my car to get a few things that were in the trunk: a twelve-pack case of Coke, a thirty pound bag of cat litter, and a four-roll pack of toilet paper.
I didn't bring a walking stick. My arms were loaded with all the stuff. I laboriously dragged myself up the hill and almost made it to the back porch.
That's when I slipped on some mud.
I wish I had this on video, because seeing it would be much more entertaining than describing it.
I was suddenly airborne.
I literally flew onto the back porch, head first, and landed directly on a lawn chair.
Somehow, the thirty pound bag of kitty litter landed on me, the Coke cans rolled everywhere, and only God knows where the toilet paper went. The once-sturdy lawn chair broke into pieces. And I mean pieces.
I had instinctively broken the fall with my arms and subsequently injured my wrists. A chunk of flesh was gouged out of my left wrist, courtesy of the metal lawn chair. It wasn't until I was laying there, face down, that my chest, knees, and left leg started hurting.
As stars and birdies swirled around my head - like in a Warner Brother's cartoon - I realized that I was fortunate I didn't land on my spine.
I really felt sick for several hours after I finally crawled inside.
And I had unholy visions of what might have happened if I hadn't been able to get up:
After I froze to death and the coyotes were feasting on my body, my three cats would watch and laugh from the kitchen window.
Is there a happy ending to this tale of woe? Naw, not a chance. I not only ache in a wide assortment of uncomfortable places, my pride hurts, too.
And I vow that it will never happen again.
Since I have no photos of me falling on my ass in Tennessee, I've decided to treat you to these pics that were taken when I lived in Texas.
I had set the timer on my camera with the inane intention of taking some pictures of myself fooling around in a wheelbarrow. Naturally, the damn thing toppled over just as the camera was clicking.
