Misstep
It seems to me that one of the troublesome challenges I face is remembering that I am old. I have reached, finally, the era of my life where body, an increasingly, mind, just don’t respond as I want them to. I know, boo-fucking-hoo. I don’t feel bad about it. I have been more than lucky. It’s just aggravating and occasionally dangerous. For the first time in my life, glasses are an absolute necessity and at times my youngish mentality instinctively decides to do something that my body can’t accomplish.
Last week, I was shopping at Foley’s (used to be a sister store of Lazarus and is also being converted to Macy’s, how sad). It was near closing time and I was in a hurry. Wearing sport sandals, I bounded up the escalator to house wares. There used to be a warning about wearing such footwear on escalators and with good reason.
About mid way up, the tip of my left sandal did not clear the step. My big toe, however, did. All the weight of my descending body (I was bounding, after all) was then focused on that one toe fully on the foot pad of the escalator step. Actually, foot pad is a misnomer. Rake is a much more accurate term.
Obviously, the toe could not hold that pose (why didn’t I take ballet) and it submitted to the demands of a gravitational field much stronger than Pluto’s. I slid down a step. Reaching down, I didn’t touch my now numb toe, I instead ran my fingers gently over the metal projections that make up the leading edge of the step. Sharp, amazingly sharp. Though I knew I have done some damage, I decided not to look. I did wiggle my toe, a good sign I thought. Almost as good as the fact that no one saw me in my moment of glory.
I gingerly stepped to the rack that held the Calephon sauce pan ( on markdown) that I had come to purchase. The pain arrived. At the check out counter, I blankly smiled even though the young clerk was having trouble ringing up the purchase. I could feel myself turning white (hmm). I discretely glanced down and saw that blood was beginning to pool in the cup made by the upturned edges of the Nike sandal. Purchase done, I moved to the top of the escalator which was mercifully just a few steps from the counter.
It was then that the high school aged clerk called out to me, “Sir…..that’s the up one”.
And so it was, though, I didn’t seem to have much trouble going down it earlier. I took a deep breath, and walked around. On the way, on a carpeted section, I tipped my sandal to empty out the blood. I then realized I was a walking hazard to the public health. I didn’t like that feeling.
Luckily, I had parked at a store entrance, This was at The Galleria, I could have been a mile away. As I reached the door, I looked back over my last several steps, trailing blood.
Back in the 4-Runner, I wrapped an old shirt around my foot and used a draw string from some warm ups to provide pressure. It hurt. I drove home.
Continued later.
Last week, I was shopping at Foley’s (used to be a sister store of Lazarus and is also being converted to Macy’s, how sad). It was near closing time and I was in a hurry. Wearing sport sandals, I bounded up the escalator to house wares. There used to be a warning about wearing such footwear on escalators and with good reason.
About mid way up, the tip of my left sandal did not clear the step. My big toe, however, did. All the weight of my descending body (I was bounding, after all) was then focused on that one toe fully on the foot pad of the escalator step. Actually, foot pad is a misnomer. Rake is a much more accurate term.
Obviously, the toe could not hold that pose (why didn’t I take ballet) and it submitted to the demands of a gravitational field much stronger than Pluto’s. I slid down a step. Reaching down, I didn’t touch my now numb toe, I instead ran my fingers gently over the metal projections that make up the leading edge of the step. Sharp, amazingly sharp. Though I knew I have done some damage, I decided not to look. I did wiggle my toe, a good sign I thought. Almost as good as the fact that no one saw me in my moment of glory.
I gingerly stepped to the rack that held the Calephon sauce pan ( on markdown) that I had come to purchase. The pain arrived. At the check out counter, I blankly smiled even though the young clerk was having trouble ringing up the purchase. I could feel myself turning white (hmm). I discretely glanced down and saw that blood was beginning to pool in the cup made by the upturned edges of the Nike sandal. Purchase done, I moved to the top of the escalator which was mercifully just a few steps from the counter.
It was then that the high school aged clerk called out to me, “Sir…..that’s the up one”.
And so it was, though, I didn’t seem to have much trouble going down it earlier. I took a deep breath, and walked around. On the way, on a carpeted section, I tipped my sandal to empty out the blood. I then realized I was a walking hazard to the public health. I didn’t like that feeling.
Luckily, I had parked at a store entrance, This was at The Galleria, I could have been a mile away. As I reached the door, I looked back over my last several steps, trailing blood.
Back in the 4-Runner, I wrapped an old shirt around my foot and used a draw string from some warm ups to provide pressure. It hurt. I drove home.
Continued later.
posted by Keith at Friday, August 25, 2006
1 Comments:
So, how is the toe now, Thyphoid Mary----oops! Keith? That story is sooooo funny!! and your story writing is grand, as usual. You have a great talent for words. Did you ever think about writing a book? I am thinking now of Mom and her ability to do the same, you have inherited that from her and have taken a it a step further. Getting older has certainly got its draw-backs and that is limits our natural ability to do things gracefully. Last year I was at a Pt's beside visiting with his father who is from Alaska. He is a great talker! He is a stamp "collecter" and I asked him about a collection that is sitting in by basement. (bring back a memory, Jason?) He started talking and I knew I was in for a longer then wanted answer. So, I sat at the end of the pt's. bed (a no-no), facing the pt. and turned sideways to look at the "talker", decided that this answer was going to take forever (no ventilators alarming that would "save" me), I leaned back to prop my right arm on the footboard of the bed. Much to my surprise, with my body already leaning at a "I can't stop" angle, there was NO footboard and I fell backward, landing on my back and already compromised left hip, hitting the back of my head on the floor. Pride is not in my vocabulary any more. That was certainly the epitomy of non grace following closely behind stupidity. That old addage of "look before you leap" when we were younger, has become "look before you lean" now that we are older...
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