Grey hair, wrinkles and a saggy chin don’t bother me, I can take these signs of ageing in my stride.
It’s the falling that bothers me.
I don’t do it a lot, but when I do it tends to be spectacular. First fall was about thirteen years ago, on my way to see my niece and my newly born great nephew. I got off the train in Aberdeen, walked out of the station and stood at the side of the road waiting for a break in the traffic. Next thing I am lying face down in the street, hearing traffic swerving to avoid me. Someone came and helped me up and when I asked her what had happened she said she’d just seen me fall forward with no real explanation. My pride and my knees were bruised, but I hardly thought about it all until my second fall five years ago, when out walking with the Professor. We were striding along, deep in some conversation when I lost consciousness and woke to hear someone yelling, somewhat surprised to realise it was me. That fall resulted in a trip to the hospital, a badly sprained ankle, broken glasses and a dislocated small bone in my hand. Then there was the fall in the middle of Argyll Street, when I lay on the ground for some time, unhurt but weirdly unable to rise, thinking that the passing shoppers must assume I was drunk. I was helped up by a lovely couple of women who wanted to call an ambulance, but I refused and walked on the meeting I was due to chair. My most recent fall was the worst, breaking several ribs after I passed out when cycling.
It's not booze. I am famously and boringly well-nigh tee total. It's not a balance issue. I don’t trip, or at least, if I do can steady myself without falling. It's not the shoes, I always wear sensible ones, when I wear any at all. I’ve been through all the medical checks. Seizures, stroke and tumours are all ruled out. Two of the falls happened while on the wrong medication – the others did not. Orthostatic hypotension may explain being light headed when I stand up, but not the falls, because they only occur when I am striding along, or pedalling a bike.
It may never happen again, but these days I don’t much like being at the top of a flight of stairs, walking along a cliff edge or going up a ladder. It’s just that next time I fall, I want a short fall and a soft landing.
I can hear them say:
‘Ach, she’s had a fall or two, poor soul, that’s the beginning of the end…’
It’s the falling that bothers me.
I don’t do it a lot, but when I do it tends to be spectacular. First fall was about thirteen years ago, on my way to see my niece and my newly born great nephew. I got off the train in Aberdeen, walked out of the station and stood at the side of the road waiting for a break in the traffic. Next thing I am lying face down in the street, hearing traffic swerving to avoid me. Someone came and helped me up and when I asked her what had happened she said she’d just seen me fall forward with no real explanation. My pride and my knees were bruised, but I hardly thought about it all until my second fall five years ago, when out walking with the Professor. We were striding along, deep in some conversation when I lost consciousness and woke to hear someone yelling, somewhat surprised to realise it was me. That fall resulted in a trip to the hospital, a badly sprained ankle, broken glasses and a dislocated small bone in my hand. Then there was the fall in the middle of Argyll Street, when I lay on the ground for some time, unhurt but weirdly unable to rise, thinking that the passing shoppers must assume I was drunk. I was helped up by a lovely couple of women who wanted to call an ambulance, but I refused and walked on the meeting I was due to chair. My most recent fall was the worst, breaking several ribs after I passed out when cycling.
It's not booze. I am famously and boringly well-nigh tee total. It's not a balance issue. I don’t trip, or at least, if I do can steady myself without falling. It's not the shoes, I always wear sensible ones, when I wear any at all. I’ve been through all the medical checks. Seizures, stroke and tumours are all ruled out. Two of the falls happened while on the wrong medication – the others did not. Orthostatic hypotension may explain being light headed when I stand up, but not the falls, because they only occur when I am striding along, or pedalling a bike.
It may never happen again, but these days I don’t much like being at the top of a flight of stairs, walking along a cliff edge or going up a ladder. It’s just that next time I fall, I want a short fall and a soft landing.
I can hear them say:
‘Ach, she’s had a fall or two, poor soul, that’s the beginning of the end…’