All Fall Down. Again
My physical therapist warned me: the more I walk the more I'm going to fall so I'd better get used to it. But this last one was a doozy. We had come home from a lovely Rosh Hashanah dinner at my cousins' and went upstairs. I remembered I had left my phone downstairs and wanted to see my daily step count, so I headed back down to get it. I sat down on the couch to look at it, got up, and after perhaps one step my prosthetic foot decided not to move, and down I went. It was a similar fall to the one I took in Mexico City, only more so. The pain and anguish had me howling. Since I still had my phone I called Jerry to help me up. Only I couldn't get up. Just like in Mexico City. Jerry went to the garage and once again, got my wheelchair. He removed my prosthesis and helped me into the chair. He got me upstairs and helped me undress and get into bed. I downed a megadose of Ibuprofen and attempted to get comfortable. Ha! I suppose comfort is relative. I did get som