A woman saw the bruise on my chin today. Six days later, she asked “You fall over? For what? Nothing!”
I didn’t bother explaining to her and shrugged and then the best response I’ve had all week, one word. “Fuck!”
Also, it helps to know I was in an Italian supermarket. Well Greek, but wog I guess so sometimes I love the non-PC and non-business-like response I can get from this sector. I seem “white” to many people in Australia, but in the “wog sector” I’m part of their own, as my father was Italian and I look enough European in that setting, they will not mince words. I appreciate that and respect it.
About 2 weeks after my fall and the bruise was mostly gone, I was at my favourite cafe and the longest serving hospitality staff member Gabby said rather simply “It could have been worse, you could have lost all your teeth!”
So, as it is after 1am on the day this is to fly free I will attempt to keep this short and sweet. As if I could, I can but try.
After a successful weekend of films, Bridgerton, food and sleep and a lack of adulting I surfaced to prepare a late snack and coffee around 4pm Sunday, I made a sharp turn and found myself on the floor between my dining table chair and the kitchen bench. Yes, in simple terms I fell. I even reached up to stop the dinner plate that was still trying to settle on the table. If there was any other place harder to wriggle out of in my apartment, I don’t know where I would find it. But alas, extraction was achieved. When I am home and I find myself on the floor it is guaranteed I am home alone! Thoughts of how much I need a husband never more important than these times!
Falling halfway between my apartment door where I need to slide over and put my cuff and collar outside so whoever I can reach out to help me, can enter without me needing to slide over to let them in. My best option to have a fall is my bedroom to use the edge of my bed to lever myself up a little at a time. The bedroom is a location that offers carpet for under my knees and if I can message some upward direction, I have. Soft landing if I can raise myself that high. Because timing is simple, I had been awaiting the arrival of a friend that has been busy for the last year since I saw her last. She recently returned from eighteen days in Turkey. A photo of a different cat every day as requested I did not receive. She did try to pass off the same cat photo two days in a row but stated it was so hot there I withdrew my request. Alas, she returned with treats and I had to message her that I was on the floor and that I would find someone and dispatch them to bring her upstairs.
If you are new here, pre-Covid I had created a social media page to build community to help each other who are living in this apartment complex. Living in an apartment complex allows people to hide, it seems to encourage hiding unsocial practices because poor recycling habits and dumping broken furniture can be kept hidden and those that do these things can avoid reproach. This group allowed me to message a neighbour to ask her mum to come down. She is a very slim, petite Yah-Yah and has enough arthritic issues as is. While I know she will hover really concerned I know she feels helpless and concerned. I give her some busy work and she puts my milk back in the fridge. I message another neighbour, a couple who were returning from Pilates. Yah, Yah went next door to grab that neighbour. She was asleep having been home from night shift as a nurse but her sister also a nurse came to assist. I was able to wriggle to the bedroom (equally tight spot beside my bed) this brought back Flashbacks to the OT who had assessed my home as having too much clutter. My then-carer Joshie (she shall be called!) laughed when I reported this. I queried why she laughed? She had confessed she had the same amount of “clutter” against walls as we both have stuff and never enough space. At least my clutter was normalised. Meanwhile, even while lying on the floor beside my bed I lifted the clutter to put it on the bed, at least it was out of my way.
The angle under my bed and I stated, “there’s a pack of toilet rolls hidden under here!” More help arrived and having given up on getting up onto my knees and engaging my unemployed “core” to be more upright. I rolled to sit on my backside. I directed the only male in attendance to move behind me and after I disclosed how heavy I actually am (I’m just saying I weigh more than a feather and if someone’s about to lift me they need to know this) I don’t know why, but there is always something comforting about a Nurse taking your hand and telling you they are about to grab you by the waist-band of your pants and that it will only be uncomfortable for a moment. Thank Christ for weekend baggy tracksuit pants I say, or I would have had a wedgy.
The first person I hugged was the Yah-Yah, and I reassured her she had been of great help. I also reminded her, had she attempted to get me up I would have crushed her and she would have been found days later having expired. I don’t weigh so much, I’ll be getting my on-TV show, but I make this joke every time because despite how serious it all gets, it’s a great stress reliever.
On days I’m home, I often only put shoes on when I go out onto my balcony, but I’ll leave them on until late when I go off to bed, just to avoid slipping over. At one point before help came Mika (my cat) decided to come past, while my fall can be credited to socks on timber floor without shoes, Mika came towards me and one of her back legs went out from under her. So, it’s not just me. While sitting on the floor I also discovered a nice lump coming up on my chin. Never let it be said “Helen only ever does things by halves” I’m going to have a fun bruise on my chin and down the left side of my face I can’t wait to explain away this week.
I’m already trying a few out “this is not the result of day shit date gone wrong!” Full dark Yes! Or “I took it on the chin!” That is terrible, but I see myself saying it a lot this week. Or “I really did fall!” Here is a nice photo of my chin. Excuse the view up my nose.
One last mention to my Sunday carer that put a leave-in moisturizing treatment in my hair before putting it back up. Even with the fall, it didn’t move It’s not the best way to test if my bun is secured but here, we are. Shout out to her.
Also, a sadness to let go of the group I created for this building. My departure is imminent as the affordable rent I have appreciated for now seven years coming to an end soon. More of this to follow soon. Wow, it is 2am and I think time for bed, I have already secured my first of two-chiro appointment’s. Hope everyone has a good week. Note, not a question.
This is probably not the post I intended to write when I sat down but maybe I’ll stay tapping at my iPad long enough to do some catch up.
There’s nothing like going to see your doctor and they throw a random question at you and you are not sure how to answer, like “Do you bruise easily?”
It means to find a bruise you don’t remember how you got it, hate to have dementia. How are they going to remember?
I currently have a bruise on my jawline. NFI how that got there but every other day my carer tells me it’s there, asks how I got it and puts a dab of arnica on it.
But this is not a diagnosis, generally, I get a bruise often and I consider which piece of furniture I’ve collected. Often, it’s when I repeat the knock or bump and it hurts the original bruise while it’s still bad enough to hurt.
I’m not crying over spilt milk. Bruises are not killing me.
I’ve previously covered that the definition of “to bruise easily” is finding a bruise on your body and not remembering how you got it. For over a week my carers have been pointing out this bruise on my left arm. And I recall exactly how it happened. This is from when I took on a fence while out on my scooter, it’s still standing but so am I.
I have a tendency to take the High Street to go out on HellOnWheels to do some Hunter/Gathering at times to help get ahead of what I need to achieve with my carer on a Friday and to be a little creative, take a break from the High Street, I take some smaller side streets to cut through the smaller streets, on this particular day I encountered a shopping trolley someone had thoughtfully left on the footpath leaning against a tree. I imagined I could fit through the gap. I was wrong.
I reversed, got off my scooter then pushed the trolley onto the road where a driver could curse the universe later. I continued home.
Since then, when questioned by my carers, I respond, “I took on a fence! The fucking thing is still standing!”
Now, for some light and shade. If you just turned ‘twenty-three’ it was pretty dark times. Although this story stems from a purchase from back then.
When I finally got a queen-sized bed (my dad made me a sleigh bed) but more about that later. I bought some affordable pine furniture to fill my bedroom, two bedside tables, a tall boy with a large blanket drawer down the bottom and an upright bookcase with nice moulding on the top.
Now, I said it was affordable, I meant cheap. However, I added some raw amber water-based paint, some patina (antiquing medium) and some polyurethane in a satin finish and more than a single effort with the sandpaper and what can I say? Carpenters daughter, right here.
Anyway, that’s the background, the tall boy in my current home lives in the ‘return’. File under ‘apartment living’, all new builds must have a window to every bedroom. That means my bedroom has a hallway like space to the window, where I have put my DVD, bookcases and the tall boy (and anything else that didn’t fit anywhere).
So, being one handed and because I don’t stand in front of the tall boy to get the draws open and closed (I did say cheap right? The draws aren’t on runners) making opening one-handed painful and the trials and dilemmas on being one handed and having limited space. I reached down and was hitting the drawer on both ends to get the thing closed.
That’s all background you need so next is the punchline so I hope you stayed with me.
So, recently late one night, putting my clothes away, thinking I might even make it to be by 1am. (Yeah, it’s a realistic goal, even if it’s not one that makes my shrink happy) I obviously hit the tall boy draw one too many times, rather vigorously and the candle stick on top fell off and connected with the top of my head. Yes, it really hurt and yes, I used my favourite word. AND rather than slow it down, it seemed to gather speed as it hurtled towards my foot.
Which foot? I hear you ask. For those who don’t know or don’t remember, my left foot has been affected by my ‘stroke, not stroke’ as I like to call it.
So, of course it landed on my right foot, because I can fucking feel that one. Sweet Jesus, it hurt so much. Lots of swearing as I hobbled to bed and even days later, here is a photo of my bruised toes.
Solution? Need to update the tall boy to open with drawers on coasters for easy sliding and good OH&S. Adapt! Adapt! Adapt!
Last week, the last very Auntie Christine, (previously mentioned) asked me a question. ” Have you had a visitor?” Emphasis was on the word ‘visitor’ I knew what she meant and replied happily ” No, no visitors?”
She had helped me take off my bed sock from my left foot as I’ve had some trouble since my Physio mangled me two weeks ago and I’ve had trouble getting my left foot up onto my right knee.
she told me the bruise I had failed to notice looked like a hand print?
My GP once asked if I bruised easily? I didn’t know how to answer. The purest definition of bruising easily he described as you discover a bruise but don’t recall how you got it or when?
I get bruises all the time, as I presume most people with a disability would also. But I can generally tell you how I did it after the bruise appears. This one took a few days.
I think this is my hand, when I have been lifting my left leg into the car……Front passenger seat is on the left in OZ. Right leg in first…… go figure………
On the other hand, I did get a second take at seeing the film Snatched Snatched (2017 film) the Westgarth today. Palace Westgarth | Palace Cinemas Jane (not her real name) this session had twice as many people and all went smoothly. Good thing I stopped eating the popcorn when I did or my laughter would have caused me to choke to death.
Please follow the links for a look at a nice independent cinema in Melbourne, and if you haven’t gone to see Snatched with Goldie Hawn and Amy Schumer get to it.
Hell onWheels/Life One Handed 