I Took A Hard Fall. And I’m Happy About That

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<p>I was having a “bonus day.” One without meetings or deadlines, spent at my home on a shallow river. A day that I could spend doing odd chores at my own pace, stopping often to enjoy the herons and osprey hunting the river at low tide. </p>
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<p>One task was to inflate two oversized rafts that connect to create the bottom and back of a floating couch that we anchor about 20 feet into the river. Not only was it large (it seats three easily), but it was also heavy and unwieldy. Working on our small dock, I tugged the raft to force it into position to reach the electric air pump. </p>
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<p>Something was holding it back, until suddenly it wasn’t, and the raft, with all of its weight, skidded into me. I staggered and stepped backward to catch my balance. But I was closer to the edge of the dock than I realized, and my foot dropped eight inches before landing on the first step of the wooden dock stairs heading to the river. I tumbled backward down the stairs. </p>
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<p>My back hit first on the edge of a step, and I thought, “<em>I could really hurt myself</em>.” I bounced to the next step, contacting it head first, and thought, “<em>I could die!</em>” With no railings and no line of sight, my next contact was my tailbone. Then I found myself on all fours on the sand, gasping. </p>
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<p>I registered with huge relief that I was conscious; I could breathe and think. But I was shocked – I never lose my balance. All I could do was hold my position on all fours as breath rasped loudly in and out of my lungs. I was in a full-body halo of pain. After about 10 seconds – or was it five minutes? – I looked around me. There was my phone, just out of reach, where it had landed on dry-ish sand. So lucky it was low tide, or I would have landed in a foot of water, and my phone would not have worked. More rasping breath. Soon I was able to stop saying, “ow, ow.” Hysteria edged away, but tears were close. </p>
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<p>I was alone at the house, so I knew I had to act; I couldn’t indulge in just panting any longer. Forcing movement separated the pain into areas. Reaching for my phone, I found my left hand was radiating “don’t move me” messages. My attempt to straighten my torso was unsuccessful; I used all four limbs to get back up the stairs. </p>
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<p>A second set of steps had a handrail, and I had a moment of happiness that my right hand could grip, even though the arm and shoulder connected to it did not want to support my body. I hobbled up the lawn to the back porch. I was afraid if I sat, I would lose mobility. I stood and dialed for a Lyft to take me to the ER. </p>
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<p>At the hospital, ER doctors kept asking: did I feel dizzy before I fell? No. Had I been blowing up the raft by mouth? No. Had I eaten that day? Yes. Was I on any medications? No. I had just lost a tug-of-war with a heavy inflatable and gotten thrown off balance. If I had been a step further onto the dock, I would have caught my balance, and this would not even be a story. </p>
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<p>Here’s the good news. After scanning my head and torso and x-raying my hand, I had no broken bones. None. I was fine. I could get up and go on with my life. And, body creaking, muscles spasming, I did. </p>
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<p>Three days later, my sore left hand, my headache, and tailbone were fully recovered. My one bruised rib, that made even a chuckle a rattle of pain, was mostly healed in 10 days.</p>
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<p>And here’s my point: I’m happy I fell. </p>
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<p>I’m not crazy: I’m not volunteering to do it ever again. It was one of the most painful experiences I’ve ever had. But I feel differently about my body now. Even though I thought I was strong and flexible, now I <em>know</em> it. </p>
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<p>I didn’t break any bones. That seems impossible, as I’m nearly 70 years old. Osteoporosis is the <a href="https://medshadow.org/conditions-treatments/osteopenia-osteoporosis/osteoporosis-treatment-screening-medications/">scourge of our age.</a> I have a friend in her early 60s who needed multiple surgeries and now has to use a cane for the rest of her life after one bad step off a curb. Falls can cause immense harm; they can be lethal; they are an existential threat…and they are inevitable. </p>
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<p>But I lived. And I’m fine. I’m a freaking miracle. </p>
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<p>How did this happen? Of course, the random good luck of the angle of the fall and what I hit. The dock was wood, not cement. I have great genes, so I started off strong. But I give a lot of credit to the exercise I’ve put in. Years of playing tennis and working out at the gym <a href="https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s00198-023-06682-1">may also have helped preserve my bone strength</a>. </p>
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<p>I also do all the boring stuff that we talk about in MedShadow: I eat “clean” most of the time (ice cream is healthy, right?). I eat a ton of protein, and I might be the most hydrated woman in America. I also prioritize physical exercise and sleep, something I’m lucky enough to be able to do at this stage in my life. </p>
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<p>I work out more than most people need to. Before my fall (BMF), I used to work out so that I could stay healthy to play tennis. Now, after the fall (ATF), I work out to be prepared for the next injury. It will happen, but I got through this fall feeling just as physically strong as ever and mentally even stronger — so I’m not afraid. </p>
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<p>It sounds strange, but by going through the physical trauma of the fall, I gained a new confidence that my body can hold up. Anything could happen at any time, but aside from a car accident or a plane falling from the sky, I have confidence that my body has a great chance to recover. </p>
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<p>Every day as I walk along the city sidewalks, I feel my body moving, synchronized and smooth. I savor that feeling; it won’t last forever. As much as I pretend differently, I’m as susceptible to aging as anyone. So I make a point of noticing what my body can do right now, and being grateful. </p>
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<p>I’m back out on the dock (although we are getting handrails put on it)!. And that damn float got into the water, but someone else had to do it.</p>
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