Fortunately, I was able to get up, but I have to say, it was a close call.
I’ve been stumbling over my own feet for some time now, what with the ocean-in-my-ears equilibrium problem and all, but I had yet to actually land myself completely on the floor until today. It was not graceful.
In fact, it was a battle to the end. I must have twisted six different ways on my way down, trying to take everything on the night stand with me, which just gave me more stuff to land and die on.
I sprained my right wrist pretty powerfully, so I gave myself an infusion and packed it in ice. I’m sending up prayers to the Divines Ones every five minutes that it doesn’t swell. If it does, it won’t stop at the wrist and if it stops at the shoulder, I’ll be thankful.
I don’t even want to look at the huge welt I can feel on my right cheek, and said cheek is not on my face.
I bonked the back of my head, too, but since it was the last to meet the tiles, my momentum had slowed somewhat and it suffered the least damage. Of course, it’s already so damaged, how would I know the difference, eh?
I hate to think it might be time to get one of those panic buttons to wear around my neck like a belled cat.
Aging is not for the faint of heart or weak!