A week ago Sunday, we took a little road trip to a city north of us. We have out-of-state friends who were going to be in that area with their baby girl while visiting some relatives, and we’d been invited to go spend lunch and the afternoon with them.
It was great to see them!
After lunch, the six of us headed out to explore the town on foot. While on the way to our next destination, Claire tripped and fell, skinning both knees. If you’ve spent any time at all around a preschooler, you know that this is par for the course. I had some Hello Kitty™ Band-aids in my purse, and once those were applied, Claire was good as new.
We had a great visit, and when it was time to say our good-byes, they commented about Claire’s skinned knees, hoping she felt better. In true form, she’d already forgotten about them. Then, we started talking about how if one of us skinned our knee, it would be terrible. “I’d have to take the day off work!” one of our friends joked. We all agreed.
None of us heard the ominous music playing in the background.
We parted ways, and we started walking back to our car. It was a great day; the new scenery of a different town was interesting. It was flat. Very flat. By this time, Claire was riding in the umbrella stroller, with Daddy pushing her toward our car. We could see it! There it is…right there up ahead.
All of a sudden, I fell. I don’t even know what happened. My right ankle twisted when I tripped on a clod of air, and I fell. Hard. Right on my left knee. The mangled mess was disturbing to say the least. Blood was dripping down my leg. The palms of my hands were all bruised and scraped. I was trying not to panic. I got up, took three steps and fell again. On the same knee.
To my husband’s credit, he responded appropriately. It’s taken him over 10 years to learn that the first response is never supposed to be, “What the blankety-blank happened!?” The first response is always supposed to be “Are you okay!?”
But, I wasn’t. I wasn’t okay. I don’t know why I fell. All of the obvious indicators didn’t fit. I hadn’t been drinking. I was wearing heeled sandals, but I’ve worn them a million times. The sidewalk wasn’t uneven. There weren’t any massive cracks. But, it was what it was, and I needed our first aid kit.
I hobbled to the car, trying really hard not to sob. It seemed miles away, but in reality was just a couple blocks. The tears were streaming down my face, and Claire was a little freaked out. Daddy got Claire strapped into her car seat, and he got the first aid kit that I carry with me everywhere. (If I don’t have it in my purse, it’s in the trunk of my car.) Luckily, we had a Band-Aid big enough. Barely. The skinned area just below my knee was huge and gruesome.
After I got home, I cleaned it thoroughly and then freaked out some more at the swelling. The area was all swollen and gross. I bandaged it again and then sat with it iced and elevated.
It’s been a week, and I’m happy to report that it’s healing, but it’s still very painful. The location of it is such that I have to move it when I walk. That movement makes the healing process very painful and slow.
I’ve had to alter how I do some things, and I can’t wait to walk again without pain and a limp. I realize I’m very lucky in the grand scheme of things. It wasn’t like the last time I fell. I am still mobile. I still have the use of all my limbs.
Edited to add: Needless to say, my newest challenge has been put on hold indefinitely. 
I do, however, need to come up with a better story, because, “I have a skinned knee” just sounds silly and doesn’t quite represent the reality of the situation.
Or maybe it does, and I’m just not as tough as most 3-yr olds. 
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