I walk to the subway every day to get to work. I decided when I moved here that ultimately this would be a good thing because it would allow me to wake up in the morning (fresh air and all that) and also force me to get ten minutes of exercise every morning and every night. When the weather started to dip into winter I continued the ra-ra attitude and bundled up for my daily walks. I do wear office attire for work that isn’t always the most practical or the warmest, but I’ve graduated from wearing heels and torturing myself on these walks to wearing running shoes or boots with lovely dresses and looking like some kind of busy working mom. I’m totally over the illusion that I might meet Mr Wonderful on the subway and if I do I hope he likes ugly running shoes with nylons.
Anyways the other morning I opted for boots. Big, clunky, to-the-knee serious winter boots. It was -20 with the windchill and I thought it was probably time to get Canadian winter serious. I had my laptop slung across my shoulder and my purse in my hand with a container of cookies I’d baked for a team meeting I had first thing. My hands were filled and I clomped along awkwardly at a rapid pace hoping against all hope that I wouldn’t be late.
The next thing I knew I was face to the pavement and my laptop and all other worldly possessions were flying through the air in every direction. My hat flew off and my head made contact with the pavement in a momentary crack and my knee made this dashing scrape against the rough surface below me. My arms didn’t even have a chance to reach out and soften the blow. All I could think of after ‘ouch’ was that I couldn’t have picked a busier road to make my graceful descent to the pavement on. During rush hour loads of cars were zipping around, impatient to reach their destination and there, before them, was my body flat out on the surface of the pavement like a humiliated pancake. I scrambled to get myself up and collect my things. I was in a bit of a daze and I remember thinking my head was tingling but I put my hat on and went on my way, wanting to put as much distance between me and the scene of the crime as possible.
When I got to work a goose egg had formed and I started to feel a little sluggish, like the world was moving in slow motion. I laughed and showed some friends my war wound and noted the dull pounding that was beginning in my head. My team took one look at the bump and insisted I see a doctor. Next thing I knew I was being sent home in taxi to sleep off my mild concussion and having friends take turns waking me at regular intervals. The following day brought a return to a walk-in clinic at the advice of a nurse who was concerned about my neck pain. Five hours later I went home with a headache, a VERY sore neck after hours in uncomfortable seats and an addition to the list of complaints – whiplash. All this really means to me is that I get headachey, have this ridiculous red bump in the middle of my forehead and can’t bend my neck properly because it hurts. I’m whining. Get over it, I’m concussed.