It’s getting colder everyday here in Winnipeg. And by cold, I mean temperatures of plus 3 C down to minus 10 C.
I was watching one of my taped shows the other night and I was so cold that I had myself wrapped up in a comforter in the TV room upstairs. It was (way) past midnight when I got up to get ready for bed. I wanted to look out through the window to see if there was already snow outside. But there was condensation on the window by the hallway and also in the washroom and I really couldn’t see. I thought the pavement looked white but I realized later on that it was just because it was so cold and dry.
When I went in my bedroom, I noticed that the top half of the windows were still clear of condensation. And so I thought I’d go stand up on the bed and take a peek. But what was I thinking? I’m under five feet and even if I stood up on the bed, I couldn’t look through that part of the window. But as I’ve said, it was way past midnight. I was tired and I wasn’t thinking right. I did hop on the bed.
But you see, my 17-year old bed is no longer that firm and I was like a bouncing ball when I stood up on that bed. When I tried to get down, my feet somehow got caught up in either my very long pajamas or the comforter and I was thrown off balance. I tried to grab on something to hold on to but the closest I could grab was the comforter itself. And of course it couldn’t hold my weight. Beside the bed was a bookshelf which was now behind me. I reached for the shelf with my right hand but what good would that do? I was already falling. It felt like I was suspended in time at that moment, like I was in the middle of a slow motion of my own video clip. All I could think of at that instant was “Oh please dear Lord, don’t make this be a bad fall.” This is not the first time I had fallen off the bed, by the way. (That’s another post.) I haven’t had a serious fall so far. But I am now in my 40’s and I know that my bones are not that young anymore.
So I fell, butt first, in the narrow space on the floor between the bed and the bookshelf. I couldn’t get up right away. I tried to take a moment to feel if I broke anything. It didn’t seem like I broke any bones but I felt pain in my right hand. I must have scraped it when I tried to hold on the bookshelf as I fell. My husband wasn’t home as he works at night. And I thought, what if I had passed out? Would he find me there when he gets home? I was too tired and too lazy to get up to turn the lights on and see the damage. I did manage to get off the floor and get on the bed and under the covers. I thought I’d just go to sleep and maybe the pain would be gone when I woke up.
When I got up the next morning, (I overslept, by the way, and I hurriedly woke up my oldest son hoping that he’d still make it to his carpool to school. He did.) I saw that my pinkie was covered in blood, which has already dried by then and I also had some on my shirt. It was only after I had taken a shower and had my hands cleaned that I found out that I scraped my finger really bad. The skin was peeling. I could lift the skin and see the red flesh. It was so gross that I couldn’t even look at it for that long. I immediately covered it up with a Band-aid.
Darn mattress. I have been telling my husband that we should really have it replaced. Not only is it getting saggy but it creaks at night at our every move, not only when tossing and turning in our sleep, but also when we’re doing that other thing that we do in the bedroom. And no, not that thing, as we don’t have a TV there. I’m talking about the other thing.
But should I really be blaming the bed? Or maybe I should be blaming the foolishness of this 40-something woman.
Entry filed under: Midlife.