Zero days without an accident
Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve endured a few extra ouchies. I broke my toe. Again.
For the record, this is the second time I’ve broken my middle toe; if you’re trying to figure out which piggie I injured, it’s the one that gets roast beef, my index toe. It’s not my fault; toes don’t have names.
Several years ago, I had to go to the podiatrist because I slammed my middle toe so hard, it smushed together like an accordion. The doctor yanked it back into its proper shape. I felt like a cartoon character. It’s the kind of thing that could have happened to Yosemite Sam’s whole body, where you’d see just his hat and his feet.
On Wednesday last week, I fell UP the steps. Any klutz can fall down the stairs, but it takes a special kind of numbskull to fall up.
I ran up the stairs to grab the home phone. I know what you’re thinking: Who still has a landline? I do, and I wanted to answer it before the third ring. My haste nearly killed me.
There I was, sprawled out on the top steps. I injured my right elbow and my left knee. I spent the next couple of minutes trying to figure out how to stand up while the phone went to voicemail. One piece of good news: It was a robocall. I am glad I didn’t answer it.
I crawled into the kitchen. Trying to stand with a broken toe, a bad knee, and a bad elbow was painful, but it must’ve looked comical to anyone watching. OK, you have to be a bit of a sociopath to laugh at me. I was writhing on the floor, assessing each limb, trying to discern which one could hold my weight. The answer was “none of the above.”
I wiggled to the bench and climbed into an upright position. Having forgotten something, I had to go back downstairs. Suddenly, I was struck by bathmophobia, or fear of the stairs. Bathmophobia sounds like it should be fear of bubbles, suds, and towels, but “bathmo” is Greek for steep. My nephews cry when they are told to hop in the shower. That should be bathmophobia, rather than the fear of stairs and/or steep inclines.
Side note: Spell Check tried to change the word “bathmophobia” into “Batmobile.” Looking back, “Suddenly, I was struck with the Batmobile” is a much better sentence. I would look less like a klutz and more like a supervillain.
But I digress, like I do. I had to quickly overcome my fear of the stairs and go right back down. Over the years, I have learned that if you prolong fear, it grows. So, I hobbled down the stairs. Luckily, I sustained no new injuries.
I picture my home with one of those signs, “Blank Days without an Accident.” If I can make it through the next 24 hours, I can put the number one in that blank spot.