Ouch, Ouch, Ouch

I fell down the stairs last night.

Those would be the steep wooden stairs that lead down to the cement floor of the basement.

It was my own fault. They are treacherous stairs - “The Stairs of Death!” was how Handsome and I described them to the bunnies when we moved in. (“The Stairs of Caution!” was our amended nomenclature after the bunnies became overly wary and were reluctant to go to the basement.) We drilled the rules of stair-safety into them:

Always hold on to a rail when using the stairs.
Always go down the stairs one by one.
No rushing on the stairs.
No rough-housing on the stairs.

Last night, I was carrying my laptop, and balanced on top of that, a basket containing two cell phones and an ipod. Both of my hands were full.

Before I started down the stairs, I leaned left to try to turn on the light by nudging it with the basket perched atop my computer. The next thing I knew, my foot had landed wrong and I was falling.

For a split second, I tried to hold on to my computer. I was at the top of the stairs, after all. And between the wood of the stairs and the cement of the floor below, there wasn’t going to be a soft landing for any of us.

And my computer was expensive! And my Apple Care plan has expired!

Then I hit my head, hard, against the stairs, and that knocked some sense back into me. Let go of the computer, came an intelligent voice from within. You’re in trouble. Save yourself.

Then, a collection of sounds much larger than clattering. Crash went the computer. Crunch went my left hand as it smashed against the bookcase. Slam went my right hand as it smashed against the wall when I tried fruitlessly to brace myself. I heard someone screaming.

I fell, and then I slid, painfully, down the rest of the stairs -- thud, thud, thud, thud, thud -- until I found myself in a heap at the bottom.

I wanted to cry out, but someone was still shrieking. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!”

It was the Handsome Man.

(At the time, that was far more annoying than endearing or funny.)

“Are you okay?” he hollered, even as he came in a clambering rush down the stairs from the kitchen.

From my position on the floor, I was conducting a near motionless, internal scan: I am conscious. I can see. I can lift my head. I don’t see any blood or feel any wetness.

I think I’m okay, I thought, but snapped at him: “When I fall down the stairs, you don’t get to yell. I get to yell.”

I didn’t yell. I whimpered as I limped over to the daybed. I can walk, I thought. My entire left side, from the back of my head to side of my ankle, was throbbing. It occurred to me that even without obvious injury, there was no way my bones and/or organs hadn’t shifted during flight.

I passed my computer where it lay, surprisingly, intact. Huh, I thought.

I crawled onto the daybed and Handsome crouched over me looking concerned.

A strange little knot was forming on the top of my left hand. That doesn’t look right, I thought.

“I’m going to want some ice,” I said, going for brave and composed. “Now!” I said, failing.

Handsome hustled away towards the stairs and then stopped over the fallen computer. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw him reach for it. “People first!” I snapped at him, and he continued up the stairs for my ice.

This morning, I am sore and achy and bruised, ugh, the bruising. My head hurts, my hand hurts, my back hurts, my neck hurts, my shoulder hurts, my hip hurts, my shin hurts, my ankle hurts. I feel a bit like I did after the car accident that totaled the Jetta. (Though just a bit - that car accident was pretty serious pain - and this is mostly just on one side.)

The computer? It’s got a bulge where it didn’t before, and the front of the case is peeking open on the left side. But it’s working like a charm.

We both came through alright.

All the same, the computer’s going to make a visit to the Genius Bar, and I’m going to make an appointment with a chiropractor.