Occasionally one hears about an elderly person suffering from ‘a fall’, and it being treated as a major incident. This had always seemed a little odd to me, since I’d often fallen over in sports, climbing accidents, cycling, etc, but what is the big deal, I used to ask myself? You fall over, you get up, and more or less move on. A bit like Chumbawamba, I suppose. Somebody hacks you down in a footie game and you simply get up and you kick the crap out of them at the first opportunity you get. It’s no big deal – everybody understands the process.
But that said, I had had some incidents where it haddn’t been so good. I recall in particular, whilst decorating my house (in my early 30s), I’d stepped down from a chair, put my foot on the curtain rail I’d just taken down, twisting my ankle, falling completely out of control and ending up lying on the floor, thinking, ‘what the hell just happened’.
That was a serious shock, but I put it down to experience.
But this afternoon, just after putting the rubbish out, I managed to turn my ankle on a very small stone in my driveway, and come crashing down in an untidy heap. It was wet, so I got up quickly and tried to carry on without making any fuss. Except that didn’t happen. I got up with a sore hand – which I’d landed on – crawled indoors, and sat there shaking. Why - I don’t know. Eventually I made myself a cup of sweet tea and gradually got my act together. (Actually, that’s a lie – I poured myself a generous glass of ‘Old Rosie’ cider, the best medicine in the world, and it really worked.)
So really, at the age of 65, and looking forward to getting my bus pass in a few months time, I’m starting to understand what it means to be old. I mean, obviously I’m not actually old really – I’m actually in my prime and enjoying retirment – but it’s a bit of a wake-up call.
And then the GP surgery rang up asking why I’d not sent them in the blood pressure readings they had asked for last week…
So I’m not actually old, but maybe I need to start being just a little more careful…..