Have you ever had that feeling that you shouldn't do something even though that something seemed totally innocent and non-threatening? Why don't we listen to that little voice when it whispers in our ear?
I've learned since my MS diagnosis that listening to that little voice is imperative. So, why, I ask myself don't I always trust my instinct?
This morning before preparing for church, I decided to make up for my weekend lack of exercise to take a quick stroll around the neighborhood to loosen up the joints. So, walking stick at my side and my favorite walking shoes securely tied, I headed out the door to boost my day. The air was crisp and comfortable. The sun was promising to be present where as the largest part of this summer has been overcast and wet, so I chose to ignore my little voice hinting at impending doom. It was just going to be a small walk; nothing like the challenge of facing the mountain of steps that has become my nemesis this season. I just wanted to breathe and stretch.
And that's what I did until...the fall.
I don't know about you, but it seems when I fall there is no warning and no sense of survival until impact. My normal aversion to gravel or loose earth did not apply to this particular fall. The ground was non slick nor was I moving quickly. I just...fell...hard.
Of course human instinct demands that we check for witnesses before assessing our own personal state of being, so I didn't even look at my injuries before assuring myself that this awkward moment was all my own. Even though I lay prone on the road my first instinct was to safeguard my dignity.
So, I brushed myself off and forced my drop foot to cooperate for the remaining half a block to my front door. The closer I got the more aware of the pain in my left knee I became.
I hadn't planned on crying or feeling sorry for myself until I saw the blood running (not trickling) down the front of my left and onto my favorite Nike sneakers. The next 20 minutes were spent scrubbing the road dirt out of the wound and carefully removing my white shorts without soiling them with my own blood.
A warm shower aggravated the injury and my shower turned into a river of red. I know that I have suffered worse boo-boos as a child, but this was not a bicycle accident or a scrape on the playground. Adults just do not heal as readily as children and sometimes we are much bigger babies. I tried to keep my whimpers to a minimum as to not alarm my son, but the tears came any way as I again soaked my knee with hydrogen peroxide and Neosporin.
With a bandaged knee and a long skirt my wound was well hidden (I really did take a chunk out of myself!) and I would be okay.
If only I had listened to my little voice when it warned me to skip exercise this morning.
So, now I am left shaky and sore, with a bloody knee and a reason to spend my Sunday lazy and on the couch. (But I did make it to church:)