‘You may hate gravity, but gravity doesn’t care – Clayton M Christensen (1952–2020; US academic)
I was asked recently when any of us stop falling over and start ‘having a fall’.
It’s a question I’ve been pondering since falling YET AGAIN and in the same vineyard where I unknowingly broke (rather than sprained) my ankle in December 2023. After that event, long time readers may recall that I returned to the UK where I walked on it and drove a car for seven weeks before returning south of the equator and finally asking myself why the swelling was taking so long to go down.
A swift doctors appointment (yes, we can access those here – at a price) and a trip to the X-ray department showed it had been broken all along and I was sentenced to six tedious weeks with it encased in a boot. About a year after I’d taken that off I broke the other ankle a year ago this month outside the same house where I am currently staying.
On that occasion, there was no hesitation, but we zipped off to a local hospital, paid a wodge of money and received an X-ray, a boot and a bonus urine infection (I think that was free). I refused the crutches which would have boosted the bill considerably.
The consequence of last year’s shenanigans was that I had to wear another infernal boot to America. Since my husband currently has no cartilage in his knees, we were a sorry but comedic sight as we were taken in wheelchairs through the rigmaroles of check in and security at Heathrow and through passport checks and customs at San Fransisco airports. On the up side, we seemed to jump a lot of queues, but I still don’t recommend it.
It means I hobbled around California last easter and appeared in my son’s birthday and engagement photos with this encumbrance which, as you’ll appreciate, is far from photogenic.
Since last year, and especially on this trip, I have been super careful in where and how I place my feet, especially when getting on and off pavements. Staying with our friends, I again had access to walks in the beautiful vineyards which (less beautifully) overlook Pollsmoor prison. While there are paved parts and a fairly new trail marked with nifty icons, within this there are other paths which consist mostly of scree.
With warnings blaring in my conscious and subconscious, I found that I spent more time looking at my feet than at the view, which is a shame because it’s pretty spectacular regardless of the weather.
My latest mishap happened when I blew my nose. Honestly, you couldn’t make it up. I should have come to a halt and then applied the tissue to the nasal cavities but in that nanosecond of attending to my hygiene and health, I was gone. Definitely falling, but not with any style. Twisted, rolled, sprained, strained – who knows? Maybe gravity is just extra strong down here or perhaps my resistance to it is low.
All I know is that I was hopping (on the other leg, obviously) mad and refused to visit the hospital where, broken or not, I would require yet another expensive boot though I would, given the choice, pass on the urine infection.
As it is I am strapped up and hobbling, back to watching my step, brushing off the unwelcome and decidedly unoriginal comments about alcohol intake or ‘doing’ the other ankle to match, and hoping to be back on a safe path soon.
It’s certainly made me mindful of the biblical proverb: ‘Take heed to the path of your feet, then all your ways will be sure’ (4:26 RSV).
Quite. Right now I need to concentrate on getting up again. Apparently, gravity still doesn’t care.
[Images Pixabay and my own.]
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