My fall from grace…or the curb

Did I ever tell you about that time I fell an absolute belter (Scottish for spectacular)?

I never fall, I have lived my whole life in fear of falling, not because I could injure myself, no, I’m hard as nails me. I live in fear of falling as someone might see me, how mortifying?! I was the kid that hung on for dear life to fences and railings in the winter when Mr Jack Frost had coated the entire place, there was no way I was about to deck it (Scottish for fall) in front of a bunch of people, ruthless teenage kids no less. Watching other dare devil kids walking on the ice and ultimately falling, struggling to regain their posture on the slippy, slidey ice was not a sport I wanted to ever take part in. Sure I laughed along with the other kids, calling the poor ice victim a dafty, mocking them for the rest of the school year, but inside I was secretly thankful the ice monsters got them and not me! I fake laughed to distract the other kids while I increased my iron grip of anything close by, including long grass. My walk to school on the ice was slow, nae, a slow shuffle, think of a geriatric old man, shuffling his way to the bathroom at the speed of an ill snail. That was me. I would not be taken down!

I’ve fallen 3 times in the past two years. 3 times. 3 whole face falling times. 3!!

Look, I know I blame Jess for everything and anything, but c’mon now, she is clearly the mastermind behind my down fall…fallings, as would be the case in this story. Not once do I recall meeting the pavement with my mush (face) before devil child appeared, but now, all of a sudden I have no sense of balance?! It’s all a bit dubious if you ask me. I recon Jess used the skin (when I say skin I obviously mean a whole labia) she ripped clean off my shamshima during her exit to cast some form of voodoo curse over me. That’s what her running in circles while ‘singing’ non coherent words is about! I knew it!

Granted, the last two recent falls Jess was no where in sight and happened on the same night. The first decking occurred as I was teetering my way to a taxi wearing high ass platform shoes (no, not like a spice girl or glam rocker, more a platform heel) with less than a sufficient amount of grip (apparently), combine that with a less that stable pavement (I’m looking at you Glasgow Council! I have complained about this!!) and well, my ankles started to give way, wobbling about the place. Being a cocky bitch, I didn’t believe I was falling until I was facing the nearing pavement and pushing my hand out to save my money maker. Dave was already in the taxi, I quickly picked up my mortified ass, convinced everyone in the world had seen me, buses had stopped, people clambered out to take a picture of me kneeling on the pavement. But alas, no one noticed. Not a drop of drink had passed my lips. Fast forward several hours when drink had past my lips, well, I was just asking for trouble wasn’t I? I rarely moved from my seat all night, other than to pee and help with buying drinks, so I really didn’t get that much practice at walking in these highly dangerous shoes of doom. At the end of the night I was subject to another shoe attack, this time I acted quick, I grabbed David and my sister in law, this time the shoes did not get me. A ha! Saved it. Still mortified all the same. The shame of being a drunken, walloping mess of a women, stumbling about, trying desperately to blame my shitty balance on the shoes or Jess. Not the whole 5 drinks I drank. No, no, no. I can drink anyone under the table and STILL walk, nae, RUN on these devil shoes! No way was I a stumbling mess based on only 5 drinks. What have you done to me child?!

But, my friends, these two falls are not what I am here to share with you today, ooooh no. It gets better. These falls are nothing on the mega death fall I endured at the hands of Jessica – I can blame her this time, she was there, with me, pushing me – maybe not pushing me, but she was with me nonetheless.

It was April 7th – how do I know that I hear you ask? I documented the fallout from the event on Snapchat, it was very much Snapchat worthy. But let me continue with my drama. It was your average Friday, Jess and I were late. We are, well I am, always late leaving the house for work. I challenge anyone to single handily get ready, manage a toddler and dress a toddler, not have a mental breakdown and be out the door on time. It’s impossible. Especially when you don’t really try – ain’t no one got the mental space for that amount of stress.

Actually, Jess wasn’t ever dressed this day. I know this as she was in my arms, in her house coat (also known as a dressing gown, if you are posh), wild hair and cereal in hand. Me carrying her is central to the events about to unfold…

Rushing about like a blue arsed fly, trying desperately not to rip the piss with my lateness, I grab alllll the shite a toddler needs for a day with the grandparents, it’s not too far off what the whole Kardashian family take on one of their infamous family vacays. On one arm I had 3 bags – my lunch bag, Jessica’s lunch bag an her ‘incase she poos through her clothes bag’, in the other arm I had Jess, a 20 month old, bowl full of cereal clutching, fidgeting chattertron. We make our way out to the car, I use my amazing new found mum multitasking tools to grab the keys from my mouth (I carry them like this so much, Jess picks them up and does the same and I can’t even discipline her for it), do that weird one legged static hopping pose to balance the child on while I maneuver the keys into my hand. I unlock the doors and make my way round to Jessica’s car seat, it’s only a hop skip and a curb away – clearly too much for me to handle.

I lift my left foot to step of the curb and……annnnnnd I fall. I’m falling. I have my baby in my arms and I’m falling. Then it kicked in – Parentmode. As I was falling, my body took over, it was very aware that Jessica’s face was going to be the first thing to hit the ground. My gorgeous baby was about to lose her teeth and possibly brake a nose. NOPE! My parent instincts wouldn’t let this happen. Letting out a scream as I fell, I automatically threw my hand out in front of Jessica’s face, like a reverse facehugger if you will. On my knees, disorientated and confused, not quite believing that I had just decked it an absolute cracker (Scottish for glorious, awe producing, spectacular). Jess is crying and shocked, face down on the road……thoughts of blood and the emergency room with a toothless child race through my mind as I pick her up and steady her on her feet. I check her over, beyond relieved when I notice she is only crying as her maw let out a scream in her ear and not that she had lost all her teeth and her face resembles that of Sloth from the Goonies. Thank the stars above!! She is fine!

Me? I’m not so fine. I hold on to Jess, telling her everything is ok. I couldn’t get up, not only was my hand killing me and my ankle was louping (Scottish for really fucking sore), but I was also feeling faint. I couldn’t stand up or I would pass out. The pain was soooo sore that I could have passed out – didn’t even get that with child birth. For five minutes I pleaded with Jess to stand still so I could regain a little blood in my head while I squat beside the car. Fearful that Jess would make a dash on the road, and that I am now pushing my lateness luck, I pull myself up using the car as my aid.

M.O.R.T.I.F.Y.I.N.G!

No one saw me….I tell myself…..

Hobbling away, I mange to strap devil child into her seat and hobble,drag, my ass to the drivers seat, the opposite side from Jess. Shocked, pale and in pain, I set off to drop Voodoo monger at her grandparents for the day. As soon as I enter my parents house I relive the whole event as my dad listens on, I complain my ankle is killing me as I have twisted it previously…..I maybe stumbled down a stair or two under the influence of vodka and then proceeded to dance the whole night away on a twisted ankle…..not a wise move, unless you want to wake up feeling less than fresh with a swollen ankle and a trip to A&E on the cards.

As the days pass ankle only continues to grow more painful. Like, really really painful. But I’ve been through this game before, not sober, but still, played it all the same. There’s no chance I’m going to the docs, they will send me for an x-ray which means HOURS at the hospital for them to tell me it’s a bad sprain. I’m all for taking time off work for some alone ‘me’ time but even that’s a step too far for me, I’d rather be at work surrounded by 30 Jess clones than suffer NHS facilities for half a day. No ta.

So I do what every sensible adult would do, I ignore it. I ignore my ankle when it begins to swell. I ignore it when weird bruising appears. I ignore it when the swelling and bruising grow, engulfing my whole ankle and foot. I ignore it when my ankle becomes so painful I walk with a slight limp. I ignore it when I can’t wear my boots due to the pain. I just ignore it….I know fine well this will come back to bite me in the ass when I’m 50 and have jacked up ankles. But still, I ignore it.

Whoops
My weirdly bruised foot, as damaged by Jess

I’m not sure how long I can keep on ignoring this painful ankle of mine. It’s been 6 months…..and it’s still sore. I can’t move it in certain positions, it’s not like I’m some sort of crazy ankle mover, I don’t sit rotating my ankle gasping at how sore it is, I partake in yoga and let me tell you, THAT highlights every single time that my ankle is, well, it’s fucked. Plus, if I do rotate my ankle it clicks….it clicks and clunks a lot. And then it clicks some more and then it hurts.

I’ve seriously damaged myself haven’t I? Or should I say Jess has seriously damaged me! I’m in awe at my body though, kudos for saving the child. Who knew I loved her so much I would, without hesitation, sacrifice my own body to save her puss (Scottish for face). Who knew indeed. That’s love right there. Love that will raise her to be a child genius so she can be famous and pay for the surgery needed to fix my gammy ankle!

Have a baby they said, it’s the best thing in the world they said.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

7 thoughts on “My fall from grace…or the curb

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