"I Can't Stand Up for Falling Down" not just the title of a song by Sam and Dave from 1967, and an even better cover by Elvis Costello in 1980, but an apt title for a blog about falling down.
Quite a few people have written lately about falling and how it impacts on them, and I just thought I'd share some thoughts on the topic of falling over, and some stories of past falls.
I've been in a wheelchair now for just over 5 years and in that time haven't fallen, and would like to think that it would take something particularly stupid on my part to engineer a fall from my chair - so don't rule it out.
Prior to being in a wheelchair, like most people with Myositis conditions, I had my fair share of falls. On many occasions these falls ended in a visit to A&E and with stitches to some part of my body - usually my knees or head. When you're 6ft 2 inches tall, and about 16st, and you can't break the fall, you tend to hit the ground with one hell of a bang, and then you've got to hope there's at least two nice strong guys about who might be willing and able to pick you up.
But I didn't find it was the big falls, where I hurt myself badly physically, that were the ones that had the longest lasting impact. With the big falls there was usually something that I could find to laugh about but it was usually the little, innocuous falls that happened very quickly, and unexpected, when I was feeling good, that had the worse effect on me, and took the longest to recover from.
I remember trying to get out of bed one night, to go to the bathroom, but couldn't stand up from the side of the bed. So I really gave it a big effort and pushed myself up and of course overbalanced, and ended up on the floor. As I was crashing down, I grabbed at a cabinet and pulled this on top of me. Fortunately, my care alarm, was on top of the cabinet and this fell where I could reach it. Whilst I waited for someone to come out to me, about 30 minutes, I lay there in the dark, wondering what would have happened if I hadn't pulled the cabinet over. Since then I haven't been able to sleep at night without a lamp on.
Then there was the time at the age of about 20, 3 years after being diagnosed with Dermatomyositis. I was making good progress with my recovery and was looking for a job. I'd had an interview that morning, which frankly had been a complete disaster, and I was rushing to try to get to a bus stop before the heavens open again. I caught my foot on the edge of a paving slab, and went down heavily, onto the wet pavement. Then I found I couldn't get up. This was my first experience of falling due to my illness, and not being able to get up. A security guard in one of the offices saw me go down, and not come back up again, and came out to see if I was alright. He helped me up, and I was able to get to the bus, but my suit was ripped and soaking wet, and I was really shaken.
Or there was the time I went to do my weekly grocery shop on a Sunday morning. I'd get there early to avoid the rush, and as normal, went to get my Sunday paper first. The paper stand was always a mess with papers everywhere, all muddled up, and over the floor. Getting there early allowed me to get a paper before too much mess built up, and before to many people started pushing to get there papers. Anyway, I missed a piece of plastic binding, from the paper bundles, which was on the floor and caught my foot in it. I fell right in front of the paper stand. I hadn't hurt myself, just damaged my pride, but instead of coming to help me, people just lent over me to reach their papers. I was there for a good 3-4 minutes before a member of staff came over and asked if I was OK. I got home after this and my confidence was really shaken. I spent the next couple of days at home, almost scared to go outside, and then on the 3rd day after it had happened, I had to make myself go outside.
The worst time though was one morning when I was going into work. I was late because of an early doctors appointment. I was walking up to the station. It was a bright sunny day, I was feeling good and it was the end of the week - what could possibly go wrong. As I stepped up the kerb, I just caught my toe on the edge of the kerb and down I went - I'm sure you'll all be familiar with this type of fall. Luckly there were a couple of delivery men, unloading beer barrels at the pub nearby, who saw me fall, and came and helped me up. I didn't feel hurt, but one of them said I had a cut on my head and perhaps I should go home to clean it up. So I walked home, still feeling relatively good. When I got in, I washed my forehead - it was only a superficial cut, made myself a cup of tea and then sat down to call my boss to say I wouldn't be in. As soon as I started to tell him, I just broke down and started to cry. I couldn't stop myself. I rang off, saying I'd call back, but just couldn't stop crying. He rang back about 10 minutes later, and as soon as I started to try to speak, I just broke down again. Eventually my boss got a friend in the office to ring me and see if I needed someone to come and be with me, but by that time I had calmed down.
These falls all, in different ways, had a long lasting effect on me. I'd find after each, that I'd walk more cautiously, or I'd change how or when I did things, or my confidence would be so low that I'd really have to push myself to go out of my front door again.
But the bigger falls, where I really hurt myself, these had less effect on me, and usually were a source of a good story and a good laugh, usually at my expense.
I remember being sent on a training course by work. It was a course I had really wanted to do but hadn't been able to find one at a convenient location or date. Eventually a course came up at a location and day that suited and I was booked in. On the morning of the course, I arrived at the address I'd been given, near the Bank of England, about 20 minutes early and went to reception to register. As I went in I turned my mobile off. The girl at reception took my name and couldn't find me on her list, so she asked what course I was on. She duly advised that this course was being run in a different office in the West End of London. I asked if she would ring them to let them know I was on my way, got the correct address and left the building. I got outside and found a taxi stright away. I gave him the address and said it would take me a minute to get in. I opened the door,and the next thing I remember, is waking up, laying on the pavement with the cab driver leaning over me saying, "Don't worry, mate. There's an ambulance on its way." At which point an ambulance arrived. The crew got me into the back of the ambulance, despite my protests that there was nothing wrong, stop making a fuss, and I had a training course to go to. As I looked out of the window of the ambulance I could then see a big pool of my blood, and at that point my head started to pound. After 8 stitches in the back of my head, I went home and slept for the rest of the day. What I had forgotten was that the receptionist had rung the other office to say I was on my way. When I didn't turn up they rang my office. My boss then rang me on my mobile, which I had switched off, and obviously couldn't reach me. So at about 7.00pm that evening when I woke up, there were a large muber of ever increasingly urgent messages for me to ring and let someone know I was alright.
On another occasion I had been in hospital for a couple of days treatment, but the doctor had forgotten to prescribe one of my drugs to take home. So we agreed she'd get it done and the pharmacy would send it to the ward, and they would ring me, and I'd go and collect it. A bit of a pain as it mreant a journey across London, but other than staying in hospital, there was no real alternative. So anyway, I got the call and drove to the hospital. I got there about 2.00pm and the car park was absolutely packed. Eventually someone left a space in the underground car park, and as I pulled in I noticed the collapsed bollard, and thought to myself, that I must be careful of that when I walked round the back of the car. I got our, locked the doors and walked round the car, and as my foot hit something and I started to fall, I remembered the bloody collapse bollard. So there I am on the floor of an underground car park, with no mobile signal and no one around. I shouted and fortunately a doctor having a cigarette upstairs heard, and came down to see what the fuss was about. He made sure I was alright - I'd cut my head, smashed a lens in my glasses, cut my knee and had grazed my hands - and then went and called an ambulance. He came back and talked to me until the ambulance arrived - about 10 minutes. The crew got me up and into the ambulance, and then advised that they weren't sure if they would have to take me to another hospital, as this A&E was very busy. We did get in at this hospital, and after 6 or 7 stitches in my knee, I went to the ward and collected my drugs. The nurses made a real fuss of me, and went and got the doctor and pointed out what happens when you don't presrcibe the drugs to time. It may have ben a little unfair on her but she never left it late to do the prescription again!
But the biggest fall was after the office Christmas party, and no I wasn't drunk. The party had finished about 11.00pm but as was traditional, many of us repaired to a nearby nightclub. About 2.00pm I left with a colleague, as were sharing a hotel room for the night. He hailed a cab and ran to get to it, and like a fool, I started to run, but quickly realised I couldn't and promptly fell over, bashing my knee on the kerb. The cab driver decided I must be drunk and drove off, so Stuart helped me up, and then called another. When we got to the hotel, I took my trousers off and realised my knee was bleeding quite a lot. I put a towel round it and went to bed. About 7.00am the next morning I woke up, pulled back the sheet and thought that someone must have been murdered in my bed during the night. There was blood everywhere. My knee was gaping open. I quickly washed and dressed, and woke Stuart and told him to take my things back to the office when he checked out, but not to mention all the blood when he did. He looked a bit confused but said OK. I hobbled off to the A&E department at Guy's and St Thomas Hospital. Fortuntely it was empty and after looking at my knee I was sent to have an x-ray. When I got back they decided that there was no bone or ligament damage and proceed to stitch me up.
About 3 days later, on Christmas Eve, I was at my mothers. I went to go upstairs to the bathroom in the evening - even without stitches in my knee, stairs were tricky - and just as I was making it from the last step, onto the landing, my knee buckled and I fell. My knee folded completely underneath me, and I knew from the pain that I was in trouble. Having got myself sat up, I rolled up my trousers to survey the damage, only to find that I had ripped all the stitches out. Anywhere else in the country on Christmas Eve and the local A&E would be heaving with bodies, but fortunately in deepest, darkest Dorchester, I was the only fool needing their services. The doctor looked at my knee, and took some medical history, before saying that he would redo the stitches, but would need to put some deep into the knee to try to make it more secure and as the skin around the wound had been torn when the other stitches came out he would need to make the surface stitches bigger, to anchor them in more solid skin, and do more of them. And then the kicker. As they had only put anesthetic in the knee a couple of days before, he couldn't give me anymore, so the whole thing would have to be done, with my feeling every little stitch. For the next hour, he put 8 desolveable stitches deep in the knee, and then 12 stitches on the surface. He congratulated me on my control at only swearing at him a couple of times, and I compliemented him on his handy work.
So those are my best, and worst, falling down stories. I understand what everyone hates about falling over. The pain and injury, the loss of pride and dignity, the reliance on others to help you up, the way your confidence takes a huge knock each time it happens and how it just sets you back. And I appreciate the fact that in my wheelchair, I'm pretty safe from falling.
But, actually, I'd take the odd fall, the pain and injury, and all the rest of it, if it just meant that I could stand and walk, even just a few steps everyday.
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