Last Thursday evening I fell. This was not a run-of-the-mill fall. This was a fall worthy of a Looney Tunes’ cartoon. I may have flown just before I landed. I don’t remember. I do know that one of my shoes ended up on the other side of the patio. That’s the entire length of the patio, not the narrower width. I also know I was fortunate to land on (ahem) ample padding. I might have broken my tailbone otherwise.
I was wearing my worn-somewhat-slippery-soled canvas shoes, and lost my footing on the edge of the top newly finished patio step. I went up and came down hard, hitting my posterior on a lower step’s edge, and scraping my entire left forearm and the palm of my hand trying to catch myself. My arm and hand are bruised. The left side of my ass is sporting a
bruise — no, I think this might deserve the word hematoma, the likes of which I have never seen before. It’s fully outshining the mere contusion on my chest from last week’s foul ball. And it comes with a higher level of pain than I care to think on. Or sit on, for that matter. I have not slept well since, mostly because I cannot lie on my back for long, and lying on my left side is right out.
I suspect, however, that my discomfort is next to nothing compared to the Yarn Harlot’s. And she had to get back on a bike! Which I am not even going to think about doing for at least a week.
I was not going to post this entry. It seemed more than a little self-indulgent, and well, embarrassing. I still cringe at the thought that someone might have glanced out their back window just as I was flying through the air and slamming down hard on the patio steps. But I know that some of my readers enjoyed reading the Yarn Harlot’s blog over the month of December when I shared links to it on Facebook for the benefit of my knitting friends’ non-knitting loved ones. I suspect that some of my non-knitting friends thought her blog was mine, which is flattering, but not at all possible, really. For starters, I’m not Canadian. Also, I’m not a writer. Stephanie Pearl-McPhee is.
Anyway, I fell on my arse (as she would say) on a quick trip out to the back garden to water the basil. I hurriedly crept back in through the kitchen door so my neighbors would not hear me scream and then cry like a small child while I ran my forearm under cold water for a good little while. Stephanie had similar injuries, probably worse, and she climbed back on a bike without benefit of running water or the privacy of her own kitchen in which to weep. All for a very good cause. And this isn’t even the real ride! It’s the training part. So join me in supporting her efforts? Information is available on the blog entry in which she describes her own injuries and to which I have linked above. Thank you!