I'm unsure how many posts a blog titled Over The Falls is going to attract. When I aptly named this blog in honor of the gutsy Jade, who had survived a most horrendous car accident only to find that her falls were seriously only beginning, I couldn't foresee there would be too many more posts to add here.
But what a difference a week makes.
Thursday 5 December, which just happened to be the anniversary of my mother's birthday and also the date of her demise seven years ago, was just a week shy of my own falls looming. OK, mine was a fall. One worthy of a mention, but not the Big Kahuna that started off this whole blog. That one belongs to Jade.
Fast forward one week to Thursday 12 December, and it's a typical early morning at the dog beach with our beloved newly acquired pooch, aptly named Boof. Boof-Head, Lethal Weapon, Bone Cruncher, pick your pejorative. This time I'm there with my daughter, who had enjoyed hearing about Boof's race with his arch enemy, The Whippet, on previous occasions. Nicolle really wanted to see The Whippet, and I wanted to show her how gutsy our dog is, in trying to catch the lightning fast little sod.
Just by way of background, Boof on a previous outing had been mooted as being "out of shape" by The Whippet's rather smug owner, a grey haired lady. Scrap that; she was just grey. Sort of colourless, older, shapeless.. the sort of woman who just blends into the background, no matter where she be. I can't even visualize her now, beyond the stringy grey hair hanging down in hanks on either side of her pallid face. Personality to match. But she does have a damn fast dog, I'll give her that.
Boof is a four year old Australian cattle dog x german shepherd, so I think that makes him a purebred Handsome Heeler.
So Nicolle wanted to see this Speedy Gonzales of the doggy world, and also its owner who dared to slang off on our Magnificent Mutt. So there we were, and not a whippet in sight.
We walked the length of the beach, and then returned, and were almost back at the point where we'd make the trek up the hill and head off home. And then came one of those sliding door moments. You know the ones, they almost make an audible clunk in time; a careless decision, a fleeting moment of waver, perhaps a small debate over what to do. And you pick one path, when afterwards with the beauty of my old mate Hindsight who waits smirking in the wings, you damn well wish you'd chosen the other option, which was to leave at that point....
The Whippet arrived on the beach. It came prancing down the hill, did Charlie (The Whippet), ready to lead all and sundry a merry chase. Boof spied his speedy mate straight away, and of course went bounding over to him, and with a flick of those long, long legs, The Whippet started the game. In no time at all, there were three or four hopefuls giving chase. I'm laughing, shrieking for joy that the show was on once more, and that Nicolle would get to see this wonder dog that no earthly creature could catch. The Winged Dog in full flight, and hotly pursued.
Mrs Grey wandered over, along with her partner (who wasn't grey, in fact seemed very colourful indeed) and remarked on how her wonder dog wasn't even trying, just playing with our lesser hounds, and that they were wasting their time because no creature would ever catch it. And I'm willing Boof to pull out something extra, whether it be tucking his head in that bit more, fold back the ears, son, or make a sneaky cut corner, whatever it took, to land the rabbit. Boof was determined.. and clever. He'd wait till The Whippet would run in a big arc, then he'd wait and cut straight across the field, and come close enough to comb its leg hairs with his teeth. To no avail. The next thing The Whippet did was steal another dog's tennis ball, barely slowing to do so, and then leading the others in a merry chase, taunting them with the ball in its mouth. Nasty little critter. Mrs Grey of course remarking that nothing would slow her prize down, he could do ANYTHING.
The Whippet ran past me like a white streak, and Boof was in hot pursuit. But at the last moment, Boof feinted to the right to go around me on the other side. Unfortunately there was a serious lack of judgment there, mine in thinking he'd make it around me, and his in misjudging how much room I actually took up.
The next thing that happened was he of the 29.5 kilos (because he could stand to lose a few apparently) collided with the side of my bent right knee. He didn't exactly send it into orbit, but there was a most massive explosion of pain, the leg collapsed with its kneecap somewhere in the ether, and I landed in a pile on the sand, shrieking different words this time. Boof of course never slowed, and it would have been at least some consolation if he had have landed the prize. But he didn't. He came back to apologise a few moments later, as I lay on the sand, clutching what was left of my leg.
The knee had sort of found its way back into its usual spot, as it has been wont to do on its previous outings, so after I'd stopped shaking from shock, I tried to stand up. Nope, the knee was having none of that. In the end, Mr Grey hauled me to my feet, whilst I could feel Mrs Grey eyeing me somewhat disapprovingly. Mr Grey pointed out his own knee brace to me; I'm thinking that little rat on nitrous has a lot to answer for! And having got to my feet, I managed to stand there for a bit, then after some conversation about how bad it had looked - and was - I started to hobble back to the car. I was determined to be able to do that, and if nothing else, it looked damn gutsy on my part! But oh, it did hurt. Nicolle was quite horrified, as she'd seen the knee go sideways, and asked if I needed her to prop me up. Nope, I'm bullheaded enough to manage that one on my own. But I did rather wish that we'd gone home, oh, about five minutes earlier after all.
So we reached the car, and while Nicolle loaded our dog into the rear of the wagon, I somehow managed to fold myself and my shattered leg into the driver's seat, hoping I could at least get us home. So far, so good. We arrived home, and then I sort of managed to hop inside... and collapse.
The knee swelled up like a balloon within the space of about an hour, and when I went to stand on it not longer after I'd sat down, it simply wasn't going to cooperate. Bolts of pain straight up through the leg at the slightest hint of weight going on to it. My friend Denise who luckily is a nurse and always seems to know what to do, was my first port of call, and she turned up not long afterwards with crutches. The leg was that swollen, it didn't even feel sore anymore as I sat there, only when I attempted to use it in any way did it sing out Ave Maria Leave Me Be. There was a big water balloon around the joint, which no amount of ice was going to deflate anytime soon.
It's Sunday today, and again what a difference a few days make. Thursday and Friday were a total write-off, of sitting, icing, painkillers, watching back to back movies, and being a total couch potato. Nicolle of course went out in sympathy; I think my lack of movement made her feel extremely active by comparison! I'm normally the Eveready Bunny who can't sit still; now I still can't sit still, but some joker has taped up my cymbals for a while. Doh.
After two days of this hell, I visited the doc who confirmed what I already knew. It was no simple dislocation (because if it were, like previous occasions I'd be up and about straight away, wearing a knee brace, wincing a bit at the pain, but getting on with business). This had actually caused me to take two days off work - in the sedentary work at home role that I do, I have to be almost dead to need to do that. Apparently I'd torn the medial ligament, as yet unconfirmed, but the MRI and Xrays next week will confirm the extent of it, and the treatment.
The treatment? The good doc says that it comes down to age, and activity. Being 49 and active, I should have a total rebuild now, because if I don't, my knees will fall apart in 15 years time when nobody will operate on them because of my age. This brought home to me the depressing state of affairs that in 15 years time, my need to be active will play second banana to my age and the perceived pointlessness of restoring my physical health at that time. Apparently when you're 65, you no longer have need of such things like knees that work. So long as your crochet hook claw hold is intact, and your reading glasses firmly on your nose...
Stuff that.
So yesterday I started walking instead, briefly with crutches, and then totally without. I strapped up my knee with two lots of bracing, and then cooked myself a risotto. And did the washing. My knee wobbled, whinged, wavered.. and I went to bed exhausted at 8pm on a Saturday night.
Today I walked to Aldi and did some shopping, under the watchful eye of Denise, and carried my own bag of goodies home. I rewarded myself with strawberry cheesecake for not falling over on the way back. And now I'm writing about the whole sorry tale. And tomorrow I'm teaching Boof to read it so he never does it again. Bad Dog.
You never know when life is going to take you over the falls, just ask Jade. And you make of it what you have to, suffer the pain, the frustration, pick yourself up, and go forward as fast as you can.... My fall is not going to be more than a blip on my radar, cos as the song says, "I ain't got time fo' dis." Way too much living to do!
Appreciation to the treasured friends who stepped up and offered assistance, and of course to my wonderful daughter who was the best ice girl ever, as well as making chocolate brownies for us to enjoy, and keeping me company through some really long long movies. To Boof, the million dollar Gumtree dog (who's now cost me $350 in vet bills last week and two days lost pay and a broken knee this week) all is forgiven of course, but get your bloody eyes checked, would ya! To Noosa, thank you for raining continuously for the first 24 hours so I could feel seriously great about putting my feet up, resting and eating bad things.. you came to the party as always! I'll be dancing around town again real soon, look out xxxxx
