Come the past couple of days, I’ve realized that I’ve got to get myself up off my duff and I’ve got to start acting a little bit more like myself and a little bit less like a 93-year-old woman who’s afraid to dodder across the the floor.
That literally is what I’ve been doing: doddering. Taking tiny little cautious steps and inching around the house lest I fall again and hurt myself worse. Or end up on the floor again and not be able to get up. Again.
Truly I don’t even have to sit down on the floor to be stuck. All I need to do is it squat down next to the dog, as I just did a few minutes ago to unbuckle her collar, and lo! I can’t get back up on my feet! This time I contrived to use the coffee table as a platform to climb up, saving me another butt-walk into the family room. But seriously: this stuff is scary. No wonder I’m mincing around the house, too cautious to take a normal stride.
First step — heh… as it were — is to get off my duff and get back to walking the dog a couple of times a day. I had kind of let the doggy-walks go even before this little fiasco happened, but once I was hurt, I felt like could not manage Ruby, who is not what you would call sterling obedience-trained. Indeed, a walk around the block with Ruby is actually a drag around the block behind Ruby. So, if I wasn’t already fully converted to Jell-O, the last three weeks of hunkering in the house have completed the process. Even Ruby has put on weight!
Instead of trying to make our usual 1 1/2- to 2-mile walk, I decided to take two shorter walks, one in the morning and one in the evening. Just got back from the second of those today. And it seems to be a pretty good idea. This should allow me to build up a little strength in the legs again, which seems to be in order. Over time, I can increase the length of the walks, which also should help some.
Next Wednesday, a friend is driving me to my first physical therapy session. Number-one order of business will be to ask them if they have any techniques for getting back on one’s feet after one ends up on the floor. Apparently I have habitually used both hands to press against the floor or some object in order to shove myself upright. One hand does not suffice for the job!
Even though Ruby did not drag me around the neighborhood tonight — I’ve learned a leashing technique that discourages that — the shoulder still hurts like hell. So exactly how this scheme is going to work remains to be seen…