I Keep Falling

I keep falling. In the past week, I’ve had three rather major falls of increasing severity. In the worst, I fell all the way down a flight of stairs, save for the very top step. I simply stepped down onto the first step and before I knew it, I was thumping down the entire flight on my back and landed with a big thud at the base of the stairs on the hard floor. My tailbone and sacrum have not yet forgotten nor forgiven the incident. In fact, I had to spend over two hours in urgent care yesterday, after deciding that instead of slowly resolving, the pain seems to be steadily progressing to intolerable levels.

I’ve mentioned before that SPD causes issues with balance, proprioception, body control and kinesthetic awareness, and overall stability. Therefore, I’m predisposed to falls and accidents and my physical history confirms this correlation. I’m guessing that the inattentiveness, impatience, and hastiness inherently symptomatic of my ADHD also contribute to the unintentional recklessness that characterizes my movements. I’m like a spastic marionette, blindly operated by forces outside of my conscious control or ability and with seemingly bizarre, jerky, rapid, and unexpected actions.

My movements epitomize clumsiness and klutziness; they are erratic, disorganized, hasty at times, and sporadically and unpredictably controlled and executed. The only time I step into a veil of grace and agility is when I run, although, I’d be remiss in failing to mention several catastrophic trips and tumbles; I tend to have to steer clear of trails and uneven surfaces, despite their health benefits and forgiveness of the demands on the anatomical structures. I’m so accident-prone that if there is any potential risk of injury or malfunction with some sort of task that demands movement—particularly those requiring any degree of coordination—even if exceedingly unlikely, I’m one of those unlucky few that will experience it. I’m probably why warning labels have to exist on certain products or on informed consent forms for certain activities. When “normal” people read such information prior to engaging in the said activity, they probably wonder, how could that possibly happen? The answer: if you’re Amber. Those who know and love me dearly even joke after I do incur such injuries, “that would only happen to you!”

I don’t wear this as a badge of honor. I certainly wish I could trade this “luck” for highly unlikely positive outcomes like winning the lottery or at least the gold coins at Big Y supermarket! At the same time, I don’t want to cede responsibility or my self-efficacy in improving my balance and coordination and decreasing the incidence of undesired or hazardous movements and the resultant injury risk.

I consciously try to slow my body movements so that I only travel (or flail) at moderate velocities, so that any impact is somewhat attenuated (remembering the concept of momentum from physics class equaling mass multiplied by velocity; reducing velocity with decrease my momentum, impulse, and impact force). Instead of bombinating around like a wild ricocheting bullet, I attempt to pull back on the reins and let up on the throttle. This doesn’t directly improve my coordination, but it can augment the allotted reaction time before an impending crash or fall and dampen impact forces. I also practice balancing and stabilizing my body and limbs during my OT appointments and on my own at home. Admittedly, it’s frustrating work because I have yet to notice an appreciable improvement during dedicated practice (like single-leg stance time) or in “real life” applications (hence, the three bad falls this week). I’m not going to give up though. I harken back to a quote I had on my wall growing up from Jacob Riis:

When nothing seems to help, I go and look at a stonecutter hammering away at his rock perhaps a hundred times without as much as a crack showing in it. Yet at the hundred and first blow it will split in two, and I know it was not that blow that did it, but all that had gone before.

Maybe all of the work and practice is quietly mounting beneath the surface in an undetectable manner, but suddenly, one day, I’ll notice that I am moving more fluidly, controlled, gracefully, and safely.

(For now, I’ve got ice on my back to ease its throbbing. I must not have hit that 101st blow yet…)