Getting Hit By a Stroke vs. Falling Down The Stairs
Primo Levi said, once, if a nontoxic gas appears in your room, big or, small, the gas is invasive. It seems your suffering is like a gas filtering around your room.
Two week ago, I fell down the stairs and fractured my upper ulna.
What is the ulna? It’s the minor forearm bone.
I felt my feet come up as I tumbled forward. I was surfing downstairs.
The hallway was dark and I carried my iPad & iPad’s case. I happened to think, “what would happen if I let change my balance my left hand and to my right side carrying my iPad & it’s case. I remember the split nanosecond that I knew that something would happen if stubble over my feet—oh, well—my upper torso did a tumbling gesture and my rest of myself did second that, after my chest.
My ‘affected’ arm JUST awaked up (the fall happened a hour ago). Here comes the searing pain.
My head reached the floor after my legs. The fall did a number on my nose. I took note of the bloody stain on the floor. I rolled to my left and stared at the ceiling. My conscious was hyper feeding me data. I neither questioned my spine, or broken bones, or… or… death.
I tried to walk, clutching my hand to the wall. I walked across the road and addressed Lisa & Scott sitting on their porch. I said, “I surfboarded down my staircase. Can you ring me in about a hour?”
I couldn’t get the feeling of comfortable walking, lying down, sitting in a chair. I settled down into my glorious sofa. (It’s good to be alive.)
I know what you are going through, my friend, a new stroke survivor.
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