And there she goes! For you old-timers, do you remember these commercials that used to show up late on syndicated TV channels? Of the old lady laying on the floor and reading (quite poorly) off of cue cards and blasely announcing, "Help. I've fallen and I can't get up." The commercials that had myself and other juvie high school guys laughing and imitating all the way out to our cars to skip class?
Well, sir, I laugh no more! Never having thought it could happen to me in those invulnerable care-free days of dumb youth, now in my sixties, I stand corrected!
First a little background for those who haven't been paying attention. Over the last couple of years, arthritis has slowly, painfully taken over my body from my toes to my pretty now worthless knees to my back, and finally my thumbs. It ain't pretty. But pride still has me going upstairs to our bedroom on the second floor, even though I pretty much have to scale the stairs on all fours like Spiderman climbing a building. It usually works until I get to the top when things get scary. On the top three steps, I stand, grasp the door jam and pull myself up to safety. It's always a challenge, but I've exceeded until now. At the same time my wife happened to be out-of-town, natch.
Midnight. Friday night. For once, alcohol wasn't involved (why, you ask? Because I'm adhering to "Dry February," the shortest month of the year, double-natch). All was well until the perilous top three steps. I had almost made it, one knee lifted. And that's when my traitorous, fickle arthritic, mid-air poised knee completely decided to buckle. When the knee came down, it folded, and I fell. Hard. Mercifully I didn't go backwards down the stairs, however the left side of my chest crunched down hard on the step. Immediately, I knew I'd either broken or bruised ribs. The pain didn't stop there. My knees took quite a banging, too, to the point where they were uncomfortably numb.
Hands shaking, knees wobbling, I tried to get back to my feet to no avail. Instead I crawled up the stairs and hauled myself to the floor where I turned over, breathing deeply on the safety of the floor. BIG-ass mistake!
It took me forever just to turn over on my stomach. I couldn't sit up. My ribs and stomach muscles pained me to much and gave no support. Getting my elbows up failed several times, my arm muscles newly weakened as well. Finally, I flipped over on my stomach. Where I crawled to our bed. Now our bed is extremely high off the floor because we have an entire storage unit beneath the bed that would be the envy of John Wayne Gacy. Having made it to the side of the bed, I managed to get to my knees and tried to hoist myself up to no avail. Time and time again when I managed to get one foot painfully off the floor beneath me, I'd try to rise up but my debilitated body and worthless knees weren't having it and tossed me back down again. Crawling around, my knees beginning to burn from the carpet and strain, I searched around trying to MacGyver some steps up to bed. Clothes didn't work, not solid enough. Books were a no go, too slippery. Nothing else in sight.
A lightbulb struck me in the head (and why not? Everything else had been struck and restruck again). I thought I'd crawl to the bathroom and hoist myself up onto the toilet since it was a lower target. If I could get into a sitting position, I should be able to climb up into a stance from there. On the way there, I unbuckled my jeans, pulled them down to my ankles, thinking that while in there I'd take care of business. BIG-ass mistake #2.
You guys ever tried to crawl bare-kneed on tile floor. Ouch! Using my head, the only part of my body not in excruciating pain, I grabbed a towel and put it beneath my knees. Too late, they already looked like hamburger. And it was useless anyway. The only part of my body that was barely working to give me leverage up were my arm muscles and they were woefully diminished by all my previous rescue efforts.
I crawled back to bed, tried again and again. Every time I thought I'd make it, my knee would toss me back down like Hulk Hogan on a mad bender.
Resigned to my fate, I decided to just sleep on the floor. That lasted about ten minutes. No pillow, no cover, add horrible pain to the ribs, all seemed futile. Having rested my body I got up on my hands and knees and gave it one more shot. My shaking hands pressed onto the floor, slowly, painfully, shaking like I was in a California earthquake, I pulled my knee into position and rose. Closer, closer, almost there. When I felt myself nearly standing, I took no chances and dove for the bed. Success! Well partially. Half on the bed with just my feet dangling over, I rolled to my back, feet still dangling. I needed to kick off my jeans. One foot out. Onto the next. Gravity, deciding to have some laughs, took over and pushed me back down to the floor in another agonizing, defeating fall.
ARRGHHHH! I've fallen and I can't get up, indeed! For the second time, I tried to sleep on the floor. And that's when I realized the ultimate in body insults: on the way out of bed, apparently I had piddled in my boxers. Gross! And ew.
Okay. No wife. No phone as I had left it downstairs. And who would I have called at 2:30 in the morning anyway? I was already humiliated enough as it was, but the fact I piddled my shorts made the deciding factor that I wouldn't call anyone now. Even if I could get to my phone.
My knee towel was standing by, so I mopped up with that. Desperate I scoured the room for any last bright ideas. Inspiration struck. Around the corner there was one of many huge bookshelves. I had overloaded it and a shelf had broken. But there was another detachable empty shelf that I pulled out. A make-shift crutch to get off of one knee and onto my feet was the idea. I grabbed it, crawled back to the seemingly unachievable bed in front of me and propped the shelf beneath my right underarm. I pressed down. Agony arose throughout my body anew as I strained the last parts of my body that weren't damaged already. Wobbly. Little by little. Almost there! And...eureka! I was on my feet! A very early Christmas miracle! Not taking any chances I turned around, still hunched over on my too-short crutch and hopped backward into bed. Slowly, I was able to pull my legs and feet up behind me. The light still on, my socks still on, not about to get under covers at this point, I finally--at sweet long last--passed out.
The next morning (well, four hours later), I awoke to immense pain everywhere. I felt like a huge semi had run me over and decided that it was so much fun, it reversed for a second go. Muscles I never knew I had screamed in pain. I could hardly move. Even though it took me about an hour to pull on new jeans, I made it. I snagged my shoes, a shirt and socks, didn't bother with them yet and put them in my lap, and slid down the stairs. Finally able to stand at the bottom. (Why I didn't think to do that last night is beyond me. I could've slept in the guest bedroom. D'OH!)
I never knew the act of sitting down (more like plummeting down at this point) could hurt so much. Getting up was worse, to the point where I elicited little screams that I'm glad no one heard. I must've lost ten pounds the next couple of days because it hurt too much to go to the refrigerator. A great diet plan, but not for everyone. And going to the toilet? Forget about it! I would fall down on it from necessity, but getting up was a dreaded exercise in long-lasting effort and pain, my weakened and strained arms no longer giving support.
In fact, I had strained my entire body. Add some bruised ribs and my ever-present arthritis and I was a mess. Still am two weeks later. But slowly getting better. I haven't been out of the house until yesterday (missing some freakishly warm February days), but with the aid of a cane and my wife coming home (and I gotta admit, I kinda like her taking care of me), I'm now getting around.
So, little old lady "actor" who fell and couldn't get up again, I salute you. I apologize profusely from the tips of my sprained toes to my bruised ribs and sore shoulders for laughing at your "silly" predicament. Karma had fed me a heaping spoonful of falling down whup-ass.
I don't know if any of the characters in my books have gone through as much physical pain as I had, but the folks in Godland might come close. Plus their mental anguish and emotional pain more than make up for it. Sounds like a downer, right? Instead I hope it's an edge-of-the-seat suspense thriller with tons of twists to keep you guessing and flipping through the pages. A "farm noir," a genre I made up! An especially good read if you're laid up in bed with aches and pains! Get my essential pain reliever here, recommended by 1 out of 10 critics.
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