Graceful She Is Not

Facepalm sometimes says all that needs saying.

I fell over the dishwasher door again this evening.

I was on duty from lunch time to bedtime today as Mom did not go to my brother's for the weekend as she was in too much pain.  The doctor prescribed hydrocodone and this was the first day taking it.  I was standing right beside the dishwasher in the process of loading the dinner dishes when I heard Mom call "Good night" from the hall.

I suddenly remembered I needed to work out with her a way for her to find the already split pills in the middle of the night and make sure she understood there needed to be four hours between doses.  I also needed to get a report from her on how she felt--pain level and any possible side effects.

With that thought I turned and took one step to my right--or tried to--and tumbled across the bottom rack holding big pans, dinner dishes, bowls and silverware surfing it to the floor on the other side.

The racket was horrendous.  Like a thunderstorm in a tin bucket.

But nothing was broken.  Not on the dishwasher. Not on the dishes in the rack.  Not on me.

But oh boy are there a lot of sore spots. The worst at this moment seems to be the hard ridge along the bottom of my right palm and the wrist--mouse and crochet hook hand.  It's going to be a rough couple of days.

The second worst pain isn't from that accident but the one I had while fixing dinner.

I dropped a few zucchini chunks on the floor while scraping them off the cutting board and bent down to pick them up smacking my forehead on the cutting board hard enough Mom heard the thwack from her recliner in the living room.

I had to sit down with an ice pack for ten minutes before I could proceed with dinner.  Nearly knocked myself out.

But it's not the pain from the knot on my forehead nor the headache that still lingers that competes with the fallout from the fall over the dishwasher.  Its the pain from the whiplash to my neck.  And I'm not sure it doesn't win first place.