I do a lot to ensure my balance. Not just standing on one foot while brushing my teeth, but serious efforts. And they have worked. Until now.
Early last week on a walk with a friend, I was looking at her instead of keeping my eye on the ground as I always do. I tripped on the uneven sidewalk and landed on my face.
I blamed the coronavirus—if we hadn’t been walking six feet apart, I would have been looking where I was going.
Despite a cut above my mouth, I was sure I was OK. So at my request, we continued walking. When I got home, I surveyed the damage. I gave some thought to going to the doctor, but decided that I didn’t want to be in a medical center at this time unless my life was in danger.
The next morning, the left half of my face looked like it had been attacked by a brush dipped in black and purple paint, and my lip looked like I had been boxing with Muhammad Ali.
But gradually, I began to look more like myself. A week later, I walked again with my friend. When we met I said, “Hold on, I want to take a good look at you before we start walking.”