Falling

There was something about the stairway in the house on Hazel Avenue. Maybe it was the height or depth, or the way the 70s-era, burnt-orange carpet clung to each step. Whatever it was, those stairs were conducive to falling.

We lost count how many times my mother fell, but thankfully the only casualty was the odd heel snapped off of her fashionable pumps.

And then it was my turn.

Less than two years after my scoliosis surgery and cast removal, I fell down the stairs. I don't know how I lost my footing, but I remember thinking "This CAN'T be happening!" as I tried unsuccessfully to grab the ornate metal railing and stop my descent. My mother rushed in from the kitchen just as I landed and we both started to cry.

On the surface, I was fine. No bruises or pain. But I was paralyzed with fear wondering what might have happened to my spinal fusion and Harrington rod.

About a year later, I needed minor surgery (a misnomer, IMHO; in my experience, there's no such thing) to remove a cyst from my left hand. During my pre-op appointment, the surgeon reviewed my lab work and chest X-ray.

"Everything looks good and, by the way, your X-ray showed that a hook has dislodged from your Harrington rod."

That's just how he said it. Casual. Matter-of-fact. And, yes, of all the surgeons I have encountered in my lifetime, he gets a big, fat F in bedside manner.

"What?!" I exclaimed. "What do you mean, 'dislodged'? Where is it going??" I practically screamed, as visions of a metal hook floating throughout my body swirled in my mind. He assured me that the hook was surrounded by scar tissue and would not be going anywhere.

That was more than 30 years ago and, since then, my infamous hook has been featured on many an X-ray. Numerous medical professionals have gently broached the topic with me, assuming I was unaware of its existence. It has happened so often, in fact, that I usually cut them off with a polite, "Yes, I know, a hook dislodged from my Harrington rod."

But back to the topic of falling.

About a month ago, I tripped and fell in my bedroom. Straight back, landing unceremoniously on my butt. It was another surreal moment of disbelief--"OMG! My back! My hip! My shoulder!"--followed by a crushing fear of possible damage done.

Concern for my hip surpassed all others as I recalled following Dr. Wellman's recommendation for a ceramic joint, instead of steel, because research shows the former is longer-lasting. But that data probably did not take falling into account!

I was frantic with worry, ignoring the bump to my head, and Mark tried to calm me down.

"You're able to walk. You're okay," he said.

Dr. Wellman echoed that reassurance, saying that, as long as I could bear weight on the hip, it was probably fine.

Probably fine.

It has taken this long for the soreness--mostly in my right arm, which apparently absorbed a large percentage of the impact--to subside and I'm finally convinced that all is well.

Here's to a fall-free future!