I was thinking about revisions.
Heading down the deck stairs on Friday, I missed a step and fell. My right ankle rolled, and I fetched up really hard against a lath on the landing. To be more precise, my head hit the lath, which broke.
What you can barely see is that I hit the one vertical that had a knot in it, at precisely the right angle, with precisely the best spot on my head. Because it broke, it didn’t even ring my chimes, the force was all transferred out without any of it snapping back to bounce my brain around and concuss me. My ankle was in far worse shape than anything else–it’s still swollen and tender, and the bruising has risen to the surface now. Interesting colors all over it.
I am incredibly lucky. For one thing, I fell on the landing, instead of missing a step on the bottom half and ending up on concrete. For another, I had my phone in a zippered pocket, so if anything had ended up broken I could have called for help. As it was, I took stock, hobbled back up the stairs (figuring out that nothing was broken because my ankle would bear weight and its range-of-motion was good in every direction) and into the house. Miss B, who had been looking forward to a morning walk, was Quite Put Out, but when I settled on the couch with an icepack and my phone, the adrenaline crested and I began shaking, and she started whining softly as she licked whatever she could reach of me. I think it took her that long to figure out something was wrong.
My writing partner came by later that day to make sure I didn’t have a concussion, and found me just as lucid as usual. (Well, that’s hardly praise, but at least my pupils were the same size and I wasn’t slurring any syllables.) I still can’t run, which is irritating the hell out of me, but all things considered, if it had to happen, it happened in the best way possible. I’m lucky.
Maybe I should buy a lottery ticket…