Humpty Dumpty Is Growing Old

Well, call me Humpty Dumpty.  Actually I don't even have the excuse of sitting on a wall.  I just had a great fall -- twice actually in the past week.  My husband has taken to asking me whether I feel steady?  And do I think I might be about to fall again?

All joking aside, the whole falling thing has left me a bit shaken.  Am I actually getting old?  Whatever happened to the me that grabbed a good friend, a swimsuit and a credit card and took off minutes later on a spur-of-the-moment Tijuana trip, singing "I'm Not Growing Old" by The Origin at the top of her lungs?

Well, that me is no more.  Actually, she was gone quite some time ago.

About the falls.  The first one happened while I was standing on a stool in my closet -- reaching, strehhh-tching just a bit too far to the right to grab hold of a shoe box high on a shelf.  I had a great fall, and it took some effort to put myself back together again.  In the process of crashing down, I destroyed my husband's side of the closet organizing system (ripping down the shoe rack).  I was left dazed, with cuts and bruises.

My husband came in (we were both getting ready for work) and asked what in the world had just happened.  "I fell."  "I can see that," he said.  "The question is why and how?"  "I really don't know.  I just lost my balance, and there I went."  Now, I'm not the most coordinated person ever, but falling like this is not in my normal repertoire.  "Are you okay?"  "No, not really."  "Is there anything I can do?"  "Just leave me in my shameful state and let me moan and groan for a while."  Husband exits shaking his head.

The second fall occurred a couple of days later.  I was in the shower when I realized that I needed a new bar of soap.  No problem.  I stepped out, dripping all over the place and grabbed a bar from the nearby tub.  Trying to minimize the puddles, I leaped into the shower with a step, that turned into a slide and a near concussion.  Thankfully, I caught the brunt of the fall with my arms and my backside.  I have the bruises to show for it.  Added to the ones I had already created on my legs, I have quite the collection.

Again, my husband runs into the room.  This time even more incredulous than the first.  "Are you kidding me?  What just happened?"  "I don't know.  I just lost my balance, and there I went."  "Are you okay?!"  "Actually, no.  But I don't think I broke anything."  "Why do you keep falling?  What's wrong with you?"  "Just go, because that's not helping."  Husband exits, shaking his head.

The truth is, I'm not sure what's wrong with me.  Normal people don't fall like that.  Not even border-line-clutsy people.  All I can think is that I'm getting old.

And then a couple days later, I get the message that an elderly man in our neighborhood fell at his home, and had to be taken to the hospital.  Broken ribs and blood in his urine.  That would have been me if I were three or four decades older.  I used to wonder when I heard about an elderly person falling and breaking a hip.  Now I see that it could happen.  Very easily.

As for me -- middle-aged-I-am-in-fact-growing-old-after-all person that I am -- I'm grateful to be nursing bruises instead of breaks.  Maybe I should pull out that old Origins album again.