The first time I fell, I was in my first trimester. My foot had gone to sleep after a morning of reading the internets, and I was making my way downstairs when my numb foot had caught the edge of the step and down I went. That time, at least, I fell backwards and had my hand out to catch myself. I got a sprained wrist from that one, but nothing else besides bruised pride.
Yesterday, I was coming back from getting the mail and tripped on a concrete step in the sidewalk leading up to my building. Have you ever fallen and felt like you were watching yourself fall in slow motion before it actually happens? That was my experience. I thank God that I managed to twist my body to land on my side instead of on my front, but I was still pretty shaken up. I cried walking up the stairs to my apartment and cried some more when I went into the bathroom to clean my scraped arms, hands, and knees. Then I cried even more when I sat down on the couch and tried to pull myself together to call Sean without completely freaking him out. That apparently didn't work because when I called him the tears came back and I could barely get "I fell" out of my mouth.
He told me to call the Dr. and find out if I needed to go the emergency room and then call him back. I did, and the nurse at the Dr.'s office told me to call back within the hour and let her know if I felt George move and if I started to bleed. I called Sean back and told him what the nurse said, and he told me he was on his way home. An hour later, I called the Dr.'s office back and informed the nurse that yes, George was kicking the living daylights out of me and no, I wasn't bleeding. She told me the Dr. would call me today and find out how I'm doing.
By this time I realized my right foot was starting to really hurt near the base of my big toe. Sean gave me an ice pack but I realized it kept swelling and turning colors. I decided I aught to go to an urgent care center to have it checked out, but they wouldn't take me because of my pregnancy. Lovely. So emergency room it was. Four hours later I left the hospital with a boot, crutches, and a prescription for hydrocodone to be taken sparingly, and a diagnosis of a very bad sprain, no broken bones.
I'm thankful that it isn't worse than it could have been, and I'm ever so grateful to my wonderful Sean for leaving work and driving me to the hospital. Of course he grumbles a bit about how I'm such a n00b and a klutz and how next time one of us ends up in the emergency room it'd better be him instead (the last three trips we've made to the ER were for me), but I think that might be his way of expressing relief that I wasn't severely injured. He's been absolutely wonderful to me, and I couldn't ask for a more caring husband. I wish I could figure out a way to show my gratitude to him besides just telling him I'm grateful. This great guy left work early and stayed by my side in the ER and is bending over backwards to help me with everything and all I can do is sit here with my leg propped up and say "thanks sweety, I love you".