Richard at one point slipped on something that had fallen on the floor and did this wild little arms-flying half-dance that I so often do but it was unnerving to see that big guy nearly falling backward like that. Close!
Next on his list was to get the wheelchair ramp back in the garage. We’d loaned it out for awhile, I thankfully hadn’t needed it myself in a very long time, we don’t even own the minivan anymore to use it with and it was past time to get that thing put back away. Glad we had it when we needed it, glad my health is much improved, and we hoped to stay done with it for a long, long time to come.
That thing is seriously heavy. And with its unsteady handle it is very awkward.
Richard was halfway to where he was going with it when I saw that thing he’d slipped on a moment earlier and, waiting till he was enough steps away, ducked right in there to grab it quick–if he fell holding onto that ramp he could do serious damage to himself. (Or not holding it, for that matter, given that he would have put it down by the time he got back to that point. Things you think through afterwards.)
What happened next was that he had to pivot to go around something and the back of the ramp where he wasn’t looking suddenly swung backwards hard against his efforts–bam! into the back of my head as I was leaning over. I screamed out in pain (which very much surprised me–wait–do I DO that?!) as it dropped me right there and I grabbed my head as he put the thing down, coming, astonished to see me there, not even grokking yet what had happened.
We got out of the *bleeping* garage (“I’m not going back in there!” “That’s okay!”) and spent the next ten-fifteen minutes holding each other with me bawling hard in fear as well as pain, him saying he was so sorry, me saying it’s not your fault I didn’t tell you I was coming behind you I should have, I’m so sorry, and all we could do was be there for each other.
That ramp had hit my head where it had smacked the headrest twice in the car accident that had killed my sense of balance. It did not help it. Later calling the cream in the fridge shrimp and then going what?? at myself did not reassure.
He brought me an icepack right after that good bawl and I put it to the back of my head for some time. He cooked dinner. He told me to take it easy.
A note from Holly at just the right time (thank you thank you Holly) allowed me to answer and just spill the whole story and to start to feel the beginnings of being able to cope; I told her I would go fire off a note to my neurologist, and did.
A few hours later, I got the last few rows of that Madeline Tosh ball knitted up into that cowl and bound it off and it was done and someone could love this, and that felt very good, even if I have no idea yet who the who is. I wish I did. It would help.
I’d already stripped the bed and washed the sheets and making the bed had to be done, and I did it after dinner myself, such a little thing but at that point such a great sense of accomplishment. Claiming and clinging to normal life.
Dang. And I had that brain MRI *yesterday*.
We are taking nothing for granted. We are watching carefully for symptoms. We know the drill.
7 Comments so far
Leave a comment
Leave a comment
Line and paragraph breaks automatic, e-mail address never displayed, HTML allowed:
<a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>