Falling

I fell down the stairs last night.

I made it through the entire day without falling. There were a couple of moments when I was sure I was about to go down. A moment in the kitchen when I toppled unexpectedly to the left, and just managed to grab the counter. That misjudged moment in the living room when I almost missed my chair.

My body is not cooperating.

I'm used to it. It's part of living with this disease. Heck, it's part of living. We all fall. I like to think that due to the fact that I'm a "fall risk" as they label me at the hospital, I've become pretty good at it. We all have our talents.

A few days ago, after one of my infusions, Dr. Drama and I stopped on the way home for a slow ramble in the woods. It was a gentle climb uphill. No worries. I took it slow, the dog galloping up and back, happy to be out finally. Dr. D trailed along behind me, happy to be out as well. It was lovely. It was peaceful. It was perfect.

We walked until my post-infusion adrenaline burst petered out, standing for a minute to enjoy the quiet before turning back. On the way down, I started thinking about a project. I started talking, building my project in words and gestures as I went. My eyes were focused on the image in my mind, not on the trail.

I tripped.

My foot caught a root or branch or rock. My feet, scrambling to find better footing, missed a step. My arms flailed, throwing my balance off further. My center of balance shifted forward, down the hill. I went down on my knees. My pinwheeling arms came down, catching me, my hands clutching at dirt and debris.

It was over so fast.

To me, it was shocking.

To my spouse, ahead of me on the trail, it was hilarious.

"You just fell down the hill! In slow motion! That was the funniest thing I've ever seen! You called out, and when I turned around, you were sort of slo-mo-ing down to the ground!"

I had no idea what he was talking about. To me, it'd all happened instantly. Terrifyingly. Painfully.

I've been thinking about that fall ever since. What was it that made it so different for me than for the person standing right next to me?

It was surprising.
It hurt.
It was embarrassing.
It was unexpected.
It took my breath away.
It was inevitable.

But it wasn't scary. Not really. I knew I was going to stop. Even in my initial panic, I understood that it wasn't a life altering fall. My mind, so flighty and distractable under the best circumstances, honed in on the necessities: getting me through safely. When I accept that I am falling, or even that I am going to fall, I can trust that I will make it through safely.

That's the takeaway here.

I will fall. Maybe it's because I have holes in my brain that make me pitch over for no apparent reason, or it may be because I'm distracted, or it maybe it's for another reason entirely. But when I let go of fear, I'll end up okay.