I fell down the stairs.
I suppose it’s a good thing that the stairs were carpeted. At least I’m grateful that it wasn’t hard wood with the occasional splinter. What also worked in my favour was that the staircase wasn’t a long one, so the fall was over mercifully quickly. As I’m sure others said at the time, it could have been worse.
As it was though, I still bruised my arms and right hip, hit my head hard with subsequent dizzy spells and generally felt fairly battered.
When I was in my teens and just before, were an incident like that to take place I would have allowed the rest of the world to know about it with the shrieks and cries that would have been heard in the next town. Expressing pain through the emotion of crying remains, I believe, a very healthy thing.
Yet, on this occasion, despite the considerable pain of the injuries and the shock of the fall my reaction was mute. Inside was the full range of emotional responses, the yelps, the anger and all that. On the inside all the turmoil was taking place. On the outside, though, there was a diligent bid to clench my teeth and keep it inside. Not a peep emerged from me. I barely said a word as enquiries of my welfare trickled in. I shooed people away, because I would cope with this on my own.
Much good that was. As it transpired, it would have been better if in the midst of my injured state, I embraced the help that was offered. It would have been in my best interests to acknowledge my pain and vulnerability in it, and accept the support on offer to recover. In retrospect, the ‘manly’ compulsion to repress the thing and get gritty in soldiering on with things as usual only exacerbated my pain.
Here’s hoping I remember this for the next time an injury befalls me, so that I won’t limp along thinking I can make it on my own.
For His Name’s Sake
Shalom
C. L. J. Dryden
Life With CD 