Today is hopefully my last day on crutches. I haven’t posted here about it because it’s all over my Facebook and Twitter, and anyone who’d read this saw it already. 
A week and a half ago, I was swimming under those deadlines I DID talk about - and drowning. Reports weren’t done correctly and I had to fix everything. No one’s fault; our database system is persnickety, but very time consuming and stressful.
On Wednesday, I needed to get this large estate done. It was SO close. I had worked late Monday, and Tuesday, and it looked like again on Wednesday. I needed one more signature for the affadavit; the book department is on the mezzzanine over the first floor gallery, so I decided to go on down.
I’m an exercise junkie these days. I’ve incorporated MORE steps into my commute and had started going to the bathroom on another floor just to add in more steps to my day. But I was in such a hurry, I figured I’d take the elevator. Now, our building was built in 1924, so the elevator is a bit antiquated. You need an operator because it doesn’t come automatically if you push the button. Thankfully the elevator was on the fifth floor. I got in thinking, well, I’ve at least ridden it before; how hard could it be?
I got down to the first floor and couldn’t get the door open. I’m middly claustrophobic. My already high stress levels skyrocketed. Thankfully, the elevator operator hadn’t left yet (it was just after closing, which is why I’d needed to take it myself), and he said, “Pull the bar.” OH. Right. I got out.
I climbed the two flights of stairs to the book department and got my signatures. Then I attempted to go back upstairs.
I didn’t even make it to the gallery. I fell down the book department stairs. Of course, I was wearing nasty high heels that day. The floor of the platform between flights was slippery, and down I went.
Thankfully, nothing broke. Took till Friday to make sure, but a huge relief. I’ve been on cruches for easily a week now, and things are feeling better. The toes and ankle are mostly all recovered, though the foot itself is still very painful, especially in the evenings when I’ve been on it.
Thursday, I went in, I mailed off that large estate, I got things ready on the next one, and I didn’t feel so anxious. Because with my hobbling, I needed a lot of help, and I was very SLOW. (My usual speed is, if you can’t tell, mow-them-down.)
I still had a huge pile of deadlines and work, but I could only do what I can do. God said, “STOP,” and I had no choice but to listen! I’d be more upset about the crutches and all if I didn’t see God’s hand so clearly in it, I think.
In learning patience at work, and learning to accept help (not my strong suit, either) has helped me with the slowness of the writing. Before if I was writing so slowly, I’d think something must be wrong!! And often it was, but for a billion different reasons. Now I can say, “Well done, I wrote,” and be happy with progress, rather than perfection.
(Though my armpits WILL be happy to be off the crutches. I had been trying to strengthen my triceps, and lo! Crutches are a tricep boot camp. *G*)
I really feel your pain (and since I’m not on Facebook or Twitter, this is the first I’ve heard about you taking the fall.) I took a minor spill a couple of weeks ago walking the pup, not seriously, but it popped my knee. It’ll take three months to heal what took three seconds to damage — and all because I was hurrying the pup along so we could get home and I could tackle some chores.
I was reading “Writing the Life Poetic” by Sage Cohen this weekend and she had a lot to say about rushing around and messing with your creativity in the process (I’ve got a post I’m writing about this book for later on this week.) I feel guilty when I don’t work at top speed, as if I’m dawdling when I should be producing. But at the same time, I know how valuable my morning thirty minutes of peaceful meditation on the porch — when I do absolutely nothing — is to my process.
I think the universe is telling us both to slow down, lady.
Ohh, I’m glad you weren’t hurt worse.