“What happened, actually?” the doctor asked me after he had tended to my wounds.
“I… ummm… fell,” I explained ruefully. “So clumsy.”
You’d think there should be an age limit for bloody knees, but no. Bella* struck again yesterday.
I was just walking back to the office after eating dinner when I lost my balance and ended up sprawled on the concrete pavement. I’m no stranger to this scenario, so my first thought was to jump right back up before anyone saw me. But the pain was so overwhelming that I couldn’t move my legs, so several people did in fact see me and asked if I was okay. I said, “I’m fine, just gonna let the pain fade, thanks, bye bye.”
See, the thing with me is – I am Miss Independent, Miss I’m Sufficient, Miss I-Don’t-Like-Asking-for-Help, a lethal mix brought about by my pride in my own abilities and my hating to bother other people. In other words, I loathe being a damsel in distress.
But as I sat there, hurrying the pain up, I made the mistake of looking at my ring finger and saw that half of my nail had been ripped off by the impact, leaving a bloody mess. Now I’m scared of blood, even had a history of fainting after a doctor got a blood sample from me.
At that moment, to my horror, I could feel myself getting faint. Oh my God, I thought, what if I lost consciousness on this driveway and someone saw me and called an ambulance and I had to pay for it??
Priorities, right?
So this time when 3 men showed up asking me if I needed help, I decided to swallow my pride and worry about bothering people and said that yes, I did. They helped me up, sat me down nearby, and asked me to phone someone to get me, which I did.
“After your friend gets here,” one of the men pointed out, “you need to take care of your knee.” I didn’t even notice that my left knee was even bloodier than my finger. Great. I guess it was his fault that my dizziness intensified.
It took a while for the dizziness to go away. I was really panicking at that point, I’ve fallen many times before but I never felt dizzy after. What was going on?? I was so glad when it finally subsided and I was able to tell the 3 men that I was fine, they could leave, I’ll just wait for my friend. Then I could no longer wait and started hobbling back to the office and met my team mates halfway there.
Did I leave right after? No. I stayed to work on something, just slapping on a band aid on my finger and covering my knee with a tissue. I only left after my team mate asked, “Why are you still here? You do realize you can turn over your work to us, right?” See, I really do have a problem with the whole bothering other people thing.
So I left to go to a clinic, and my friend Dred went with me. I almost told her not to come anymore, that I was fine, really, but I swallowed the urge because this accident was teaching me a lesson, I realized. That I needed to let go of my urge to be so independent all the time. That it was okay to ask for help sometimes.
I limped like John Watson in Sherlock season 1 last night, but I’m better now, and it really isn’t that big a deal.
But I guess I brought this on myself. I shouldn’t have pointed out that I was accident prone, which you will notice is in the meaning of my name that I blogged about before this. The law of attraction at work.
In all fairness, though, it has been three years since my last bloody knee (I flew off a bike, in case you were wondering). It really isn’t all that bad, right?
*My friend calls me Bella because I’m as accident-prone as the Twilight character. That is where the similarities end, promise.