I hate falling with a passion because it means me having to pick myself up. This seems to be getting harder with each passing day. Not that it was a piece of cake before, but it was a matter of minutes instead of thirty to get myself upright.
What I hate worse is falling and my hubby seeing me do it. This was one such occasion. Between my dining room and family room is where e the large boxes my husband's hospice supplies come in. The boxes are big and wide enough that my bunnies can't jump over them when having their free open space romp. It works as a barricade. All I have to do for an opening. There is also a one brick width step on the other side. Usually I can negotiate it with no problem even with my hot pink grocery basket in my functioning hand.
That was the case this time. I had shopped at my food stores off the family room and was making my way back to the kitchen. Through the gap in the boxes ran the cord to my vacuum cleaner. It had been a clean the animal cages day so I'd vacuumed up stray hay and pellets.ways leave the vacuum plugged in because all my plugs are usually behind heavy furniture. My vacuum has a 25-ft cord so it reaches that area of the house and the living room.
I'll bet you can guess what happened next. I managed the step fine. But the first step into the dining room my affected foot caught the cord. No, I didn't fall here. It was while I tried to disengage my foot from the cord that I lost my balance. The shopping basket hit the floor as if I had set it down there. I tumbles backwards into the case of pull-ups. My functioning elbow brushing against the opening and then landing hard as I did.
There I lay sprawled on top of the box when I hear, "OMG, are you all right?"
Yep I had fallen in plain sight of my hubby. I couldn't answer him because the table blocked my line of sight to him, but yelled anyhow, "Yes!"
He takes off his oxygen and struggles to his feet intent on "helping" me. He's holding onto chairs and anything else that he could grab for support while making his way to me.
Finally, he gets to where he can see me. "Go put your oxygen back on! You can't help me."
"Yes, I can," he is gasping for air at this point and turning light blue.
"You can't lift me up nor can you even give me a supporting arm. Now get your oxygen on," I yell.
"I can offer support," he said while the color deepens to a gray. He is hovering above.
|Downward facing dog in yoga|
Because I'm looking upwards vertigo sets in and I lower myself into a seated position. "Please, you are worrying and you are going to have a panic attack. At least get the portable O2." I roll myself over into the A-frame stance and stand.
"See I told you I had this. Now let's get you back to bed and on O2," said with more bravado than I felt.
His lips are almost black at this point. His eyes bore the wild-eyed look of panic. I got him in bed and put the nasal cannula on him and told him to take some deep breathes. I put the pulse-ox monitor and his finger as I settled him back. Oxygen saturation 73 and a pulse rate of 116. Not good, but his darkened color was draining down some. I grabbed his morphine and his Ativan hoping to head off a really bad panic attack. The liquid morphine would be in his system in five minutes where the Ativan could take 20-30 minutes.
"OMG! Your arm is already turning black!"
It was just a cardboard paper cut about two inches long, the bruising was another matter. It stretch over the elbow and down halfway of my forearm. Yeah, this was gonna smart in the morning. "I'll get cleaned up after you're settled."
Thirty minutes later, he is drifting off the sleep. His face was his normal ashen color and his vitals had settled to his normal. Major panic attack averted. I toddle off the the bathroom to clean my wounds...a cardboard cut on my functioning elbow and rug rash on my knee.
The next morning and for three days afterwards I felt the effects of this fall. I reminisce fondly of a time when I could fall and keep on playing instead of feeling like I'd been run over by a Mack truck. Ah, such is the life of a post-stroke survivor and a older one at that.
Until next week...