The first thing you realize, as you hit the floor, is that those no-skid socks they give you to wear in the hospital? Well, not so much . . .

I recently spent almost a week as a guest in one of our local medical establishments, and the saddest phrase one can hear is, “Maybe we’ll keep you one more day.” I didn’t make a general announcement about it, Aberrant Reader, because, well, I just didn’t want a big deal made about it.


But I digress. But hey, if you can’t digress on your own blog, where can you?

It was a fall that landed me in the hospital in the first place, and so I wore this yellow plastic bracelet with the words, “Fall Risk.” It’s the sort of thing that makes you reconsider so much in your life – especially your relationship with gravity.


I’ve only fallen once since that initial fall, and that was my spectacular fall in the wee small hours of the morning, slipping out of my bed one night, hitting the floor, and slipping on my no-skid socks, and hitting the floor again as I tried to regain my footing.

Hauling myself up, gripping the belt the physical therapist had left hanging on the bathroom door, I finished my epic journey to the bathroom.


Falling like this, at the tender age of 64, makes you reevaluate your place in the universe. You think about falling in different places around the house, and consider your course of action, should you trip and fall in the garage, the backyard, anywhere.

I feel pretty solid right now, like I have my sea legs back, but I know now that some concepts can be can be an illusion, and it’s a sobering thought.