During our recent visit to Amsterdam, I took a tumble.
One minute, I was strolling along the sidewalk. The next, I was flying forward.
I struggled to catch myself, taking short, rapid little steps that increased in speed and frequency as I came closer and closer to the concrete. In the end, though, gravity and physics worked against me, and I hit the pavement with all the grace of a penguin doing a belly-flop on the ice.
Not that there was any ice. Nor were there any cobblestones to blame. And because the accident happened in Amsterdam, I feel compelled to note I was stone cold sober. My feet just got tangled up together, and down I went.
I fell hard. My stomach and knees took the brunt of the fall, preventing me from hitting the ground face-first. (Well, that, and I put my hands up to my head and screamed, “Not the face! Not the face!” Okay, not really, but it makes a good story.)
And — on a comic note — the down jacket I was wearing ripped open at the belly, releasing a burst of little white feathers at the moment of impact. That’s worth taking a moment to picture: the fat man goes down, and — poof! — a little cloud of goose down billows upward.
My right knee lost a patch of flesh, but my left knee was the worst. You know how, in cartoons, big lumps the size and length of broom handles bulge out of people’s heads the minute someone whacks them? That happened with my knee: the joint itself swelled up almost instantly … followed by the appearance of that odd, pointed protrusion.
Rather than subject myself to the tender mercies of the Dutch health care system, I hobbled back to the hotel. There, over a frustratingly slow wi-fi connection, I iMessaged my nephew’s lovely significant other — a doctor who, bless her, tirelessly diagnoses everyone in the family these days.
Given a few iPhone photos of the injury and responses to a couple of questions (“When you touch your knee in this way, does it make you scream? No? That’s good, actually.”), she advised a compression brace and cold compresses and ibuprofen.
Today — about two weeks later — I’m pretty much right as rain. I’ve got an ugly bruise on my stomach (so no topless photos any time soon — sorry!). My right knee has all but healed completely. My left knee still has an odd point to it, and doesn’t like to be touched, so I’m off to see an in-person doctor next week, just to make sure there’s nothing seriously awry.
As much as we travel, we’re lucky to have very few stories like this one. And, as a cautionary tale, my experience is a good reminder that, when you travel, it’s good to have basic little first-aid supplies (your ibuprofen, your bandaids, your knee brace, and your portable MRI machine — ha!) with you.
Taking that kind of tumble isn’t something I’d like to do again — but, all things considered, I got off easily … and now I can spend that gift card Mom got me for Christmas on a new down-filled jacket.
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