It’s The Scale’s Fault

BIG FOOT SCALE

The BIG FOOT scale I put in our tiny bathroom tripped me in the middle of a bathroom run in the middle of the night and the bathtub sucker-punched me right in the kisser as I fell.

I could have died. I could have broken my nose, jaw, teeth, neck. Maybe I did. My nose still runs blood and water – but less than it did. There was blood everywhere.

The first day post fall, or maybe post concussion, I cleaned up, put some make-up on, found some big old sunglasses and went as previously planned for a bus ride on a high-end grocery store shopping outing – with Steve.

That night in bed with eyes closed I hallucinated. Wide awake? With eyes closed? All these faces coming at me, nobody I knew, talking to me like in the silent movies, moving their lips, talking frantically as if they thought I could read them. At some point I was afraid to go to sleep thinking I might not wake up.

I finally took two over the counter pain pills, that didn’t touch the pain, but put me to sleep. Was happy to wake up in bed the next morning instead of someplace I wasn’t ready to visit yet.

The swelling went down considerably two days later. Half my face was ballooned up like I’d been in a boxing match. I appear to be healing quickly though – a credit to something, I don’t know what.

I’m wobbly when I walk, talk and turn. I’m nauseated. Doctors won’t give me anything for pain, so why go and spend a couple thousand dollars on MRIs, x-rays, just to be told I’m okay now. Take it easy for a while, take Tylenol for pain and don’t jump out of bed, wait fifteen seconds before rising.

All the heroin users ruined it for everybody else. Now doctors are afraid to prescribe pain medication that actually works. They treat everybody like drug addicts.

At Walgreen’s when I picked up a pain pill prescription for Steve after his carotid artery surgery, I was put on a registry – a controlled substance registry formed by the government. They scanned my picture identification and now I’m listed as a pain pill popper with the United States government.

They put Steve in the registry too, when he picked up his refill. So now we’re both listed. But me? I didn’t have a prescription. I was just picking one up for him. It doesn’t matter. You walk out the door with a controlled substance and you get registered with the United States government. That wasn’t President Trump’s policy. It was President Obama’ policy.

Whoa. What country do I live in? I forget. All countries look the same to me from my post concussion view. I can’t even begin to image all the ways that the registry information is going to be abused and used against people in pain. So, I don’t want the pills. You don’t even have to register to buy a gun, but you have to register to buy a prescription.

Everything wobbles now. Not just my head. I’m still working. No down time. I just got a rude, out of the blue, awakening in the middle of the night to my age. I’m old, no matter the youthfulness of my mind.

So I need to take better care of balance concerns. Who would think? Exercised, walked all my life, ate right and all of a sudden I’m falling down for no reason except that a Big Foot scale and a bathtub got in my way.

The first thing I did was remove all area rugs, rolled them up and threw them in the dumpster. BIG FOOT got a new resting place, where nobody could bump into it.

Be alert, always. I thought I was – except when half asleep in the middle of the night and I don’t want to wake fully since I want to get back to sleep. The plan has got to change. I can’t have this happen again.






 

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