“I’ve fallen(but I was able to get up with a little help)

Early last Thursday morning I woke up at 3:30am because I had to go to the bathroom. Those fellas over the age of 50 out there should know this feeling well. A side effect of all these BP meds I take is that I get dizzy and lightheaded if I get up too quickly, even in the middle of the night. By the time I got to the bathroom my head started spinning. I grabbed for the sink counter but then tripped over the scale on the floor and I tumbled sideways, my left side hitting the side of the tub. My left arm and upper left torse took the brunt of the impact. I never lost consciousness, nor did I hit my head.

After assuring my wife I was okay and that it was that I got up too quickly, we laid back down to bed. From Thursday on my left ribs have been pretty tender. No bruising and it doesn’t feel like anything is broken. Maybe fractured, or possibly bruised, but besides deep breaths or coughs, I’m managing. Even got back to my walking within a day or two of doing it. I did develop a pretty solid bruise on my left arm, just under my shoulder. So there are some war scars.

I’m healing, so no worries there. This little incident has just got me thinking about getting older, and how much harder it is to heal from when I was a lot younger. I’m sure this still would have hurt at 22 as opposed to 52, but when you’re 22 life seems far longer and more vast. There’s plenty of time to heal and do more stupid things. When you’re 52 and have already gone through a health crisis(or two) being sore for a couple or more weeks feels far more daunting than when you’re in your 20s. My dad literally cut a callous off the bottom of his foot with a pocket knife a year ago. He’s now wearing a boot so the hole will heal. Think about that. For one, he should NOT be performing callous removal with a pocket knife on himself. But second, he’s got a hole on the bottom of his foot that’s been there for a year because it won’t heal(actually, this feels like a post of it’s own.)

Point is, the older you get the harder it is and the longer it takes to heal.

The other thing that this fainting in a darkened bathroom made me think about was that you can’t get by without some help. Sure, you can do a lot of things on your own. But sometimes you have to give in to some kind of helping hand. It took me to bloating up in fluids and a nuclear blood pressure to realize doctors are my friend. I shouldn’t be anxiety-ridden around them. You need that help and that yearly check so they can see if there’s any worrying trends in your body. If I’d been doing that I might be only on a couple meds instead of half the pharmacy. But hey, that’s my reality now and I’m going to own up to it.

If I’d taken my mental health more seriously instead of just “sucking it up” over the last several years my BP may have remained more in control. Instead, I started SSRI’s a week before I ended up in the hospital. Better late than never, amirite?

I’ve come away from all of this knowing that there’s never anything wrong in asking for help. Giving in to the idea that we’re not invincible or beyond needing a helping hand. I’ve leaned very heavily on my wife since all of this, and there’s a comfort in knowing that she’s got my back. She always has, but I was too bull-headed to know that or ask when I needed help. Years ago I learned that talking things out was better than silence. Or holding my tongue before saying some smart ass comment in the heat of the moment. But when it came to my own health I put it off to the side thinking I was fine. I wasn’t, and I learned that the hard way.

I’m now an open book. I can’t do it all, and my family and friends are there for me. Much like I’ve been there for them for all these years. Help, giving and receiving, is a wonderful two-way street. The sooner you figure that out the far better you’ll be.

And also, remember to take your time getting up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom.