I Fell Out of Bed Again
It is a strange occurrence at least for most of my history; however, since I moved to Indiana I have fallen out of bed five times! It's been eleven months since the last occurrence and then yesterday morning--plop. I have no idea why this happens. I have changed beds, been cautious about where I sleep on the bed, and still it happened again.
Yesterday was the worst. Imagine if you will, little old me wedged between an immovable bed frame and a bed stand wedged against the wall. For awhile there my waist was only 30"! And hurt? Every part of me cried out for relief. Unfortunately, I was absolutely pinned! I could not wiggle, I could not turn, I could speak. I remained calm as a summer's day and gently awakened my grandson who was spending the night. Panic was never an option with the little guy so close. "Atticus," I gently said and repeated until he answered. "Granny needs some help. Can you go get Grandpa?" Acting as though finding his grandmother at 4:30 am on the floor smothered in bedclothes and stuck was not particularly unusual he did arouse my husband.
The wood of the bed stand was carving into my hip. Once that was moved (which wasn't easy--it was now wedged between the wall and me) blood began to flow into the nether regions. Ah! But still I had to get up--no easy task with bad knees, no arm strength and an hour glass figure more nearly reminiscent of Big Ben. Hubby tried to pull. He wanted so badly to rescue me. It was not to be. Certain that his further help would bring on a heart attack or break his hip, I refused. No. I must rally to the job at hand.
With visions of the local fire brigade marching into the bedroom, I resolved to get vertical or die trying. My first attempts to pull up failed miserably. Too short to get any leverage on either the bed or the night stand, my knees crying out to be left alone, I wiggled out into the main area of the bedroom. There I spied a reasonably short chest--it could work.
The picture of me pulling myself up must have been a thing to behold. But up I came and thrilled at the feeling. I stood up proudly, pain everywhere, but carpet fibers no longer in my nose. Now, back to sleep, this time clinging to the far side of the bed. Surely it won't happen again. Surely.
Yesterday was the worst. Imagine if you will, little old me wedged between an immovable bed frame and a bed stand wedged against the wall. For awhile there my waist was only 30"! And hurt? Every part of me cried out for relief. Unfortunately, I was absolutely pinned! I could not wiggle, I could not turn, I could speak. I remained calm as a summer's day and gently awakened my grandson who was spending the night. Panic was never an option with the little guy so close. "Atticus," I gently said and repeated until he answered. "Granny needs some help. Can you go get Grandpa?" Acting as though finding his grandmother at 4:30 am on the floor smothered in bedclothes and stuck was not particularly unusual he did arouse my husband.
The wood of the bed stand was carving into my hip. Once that was moved (which wasn't easy--it was now wedged between the wall and me) blood began to flow into the nether regions. Ah! But still I had to get up--no easy task with bad knees, no arm strength and an hour glass figure more nearly reminiscent of Big Ben. Hubby tried to pull. He wanted so badly to rescue me. It was not to be. Certain that his further help would bring on a heart attack or break his hip, I refused. No. I must rally to the job at hand.
With visions of the local fire brigade marching into the bedroom, I resolved to get vertical or die trying. My first attempts to pull up failed miserably. Too short to get any leverage on either the bed or the night stand, my knees crying out to be left alone, I wiggled out into the main area of the bedroom. There I spied a reasonably short chest--it could work.
The picture of me pulling myself up must have been a thing to behold. But up I came and thrilled at the feeling. I stood up proudly, pain everywhere, but carpet fibers no longer in my nose. Now, back to sleep, this time clinging to the far side of the bed. Surely it won't happen again. Surely.
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