Home > motherhood > Life flashing before eyes

Life flashing before eyes

So I was going to talk about love, sex, Valentine’s Day, and the fact that our children’s first model of motherhood is inevitable single motherhood.

And then I fell.

I was on a chair, putting The Child’s broom on the top of our tall bookshelves. She had been hitting the floor with it and making very loud noises, so I told her not to, she did, I told her I would take the broom away, she did it again, and there went the broom. The bookcases are so tall that I can barely reach even standing on a chair. And then, as I stepped down, the chair tipped.

I landed on the top corner of the chair’s back, my full (and considerable) weight coming down hard on the tiny little corner jammed up into my lower belly. The chair shattered into about a dozen pieces — cheapo Ikea stuff, happily — and I landed on my knees, dazed and flustered, but not much hurt.

Usually, if I fall, I get that neat cinematic slow-down where I have all the time in the world to consider the fact that I’m about to land, badly, and it’s going to hurt, badly. Time slows down like it’s caught in amber and I can calculate trajectories and angles and do nothing about them. This was different. Brutally fast, I don’t even remember the fall. Just the moment when I realized that I had landed with the chair in my gut, just inside my right hip, and that I could be bleeding, internally, and what would The Child do if I was knocked unconcious?

The Child was pretty upset. “Fix the chair! Mama! Fix the chair! Fix it!” she whimpered, clearly aware that something was wrong in her world but  unable to pinpoint it, so she fixated on the chair. She sobbed and pointed and demanded that I fix the chair.

“It’s okay, Baby,” I usually don’t call her baby anymore, or at least try not to, but I was shaken. “Mama will fix the chair.”

And I put her in her room with her doll and took all the pieces of the broken chair out to the back stoop and grabbed an identical and chair and put it at the table. Then I called The Husband and asked that he come home. Because it still didn’t hurt. Still doesn’t. That can’t be good.

I’ve looked and there’s a slight, shadowy bruise. But that’s it. I’m aware of the slightest ache in my hip, and my thigh muscle keeps twitching, but I’ve had much worse during rambunctious sex.  Mostly, I keep replaying what would have happened if I’d had a good, solid, oak chair instead of a cheap Ikea particle board knockoff. What would have happened if I’d hit another inch and a half to the right and landed on my hip bone instead of my tummy fat. What it would have been like for The Child to see her mother fall. What if I couldn’t get to a phone to call for help? What if I died? What if, Gods forbid, I’d landed on her? 

I’ve got an upset tummy. I’m almost certain that’s cause I didn’t have much lunch or dinner, not at all because I’ve got a rupture somewhere.  The BFF is coming over so we can go out and get hot chocolate tonight. It’s our first “date” in months. I so do not want to spend V-Day night at the ER.

Categories: motherhood
  1. Juliet Bravo
    February 15, 2008 at 12:31 pm

    Oh man, I hope you are OK! I was very paranoid about falling for a while last winter, especially when I was carrying the baby in the sling and walking outside.

    I’d be willing to bet tho, if you had a solid chair, you wouldn’t have fallen. The way you describe the speed of your fall, I think the chair came loose first, and that’s why you fell.

  2. February 15, 2008 at 8:20 pm

    Yikes! Let me know if you need anything!

    And show The Child where the real phone is, in case you ever do need it. 🙂

    I’m wacky enough to keep my cell in my pocket most of the time in case I slide down the stairs or something.

    Hope you’re ok

  1. No trackbacks yet.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: