I woke up thinking about biscuits. I hadn't had biscuits in a long time and it just sounded like a good idea, but as the morning passed, making biscuits seemed too much of a bother for breakfast. Maybe I would have them for lunch.
Lunchtime came and went and I didn't make biscuits, but then I started to think about what I felt like cooking for dinner. Last week, I told Walt to go get "meat." "Whatever you want to eat," I said. He came home with lamb, chicken and steak. I cooked the lamb first so had the chicken and steak to choose between.
I spent some time checking instant pot recipes for various chicken recipes and nothing struck me. Then I realized that a steak dinner would be super simple. Steak, spinach and...biscuits.
I got the biscuits mixed and in the oven, the spinach in the microwave and the steak on the grilling pan. I went to the family room to sit down for a few minutes until time to turn the steaks and that's when it happened.
I lost my balance, grabbed a TV table to steady myself and the table and I fell over backwards. All the stuff on the table (including a glass of water) fell all over the floor and I landed in the dog bed (soft landing. Smart move, Bev)
It became instantly apparent that there was no way I could get myself up.
Walt was upstairs watching TV and I called for him. He didn't hear me right away, but eventually my screams became louder and he came downstairs. First things first--he cleaned up the floor, including all the water, then turned the steak, still sizzling on the stove and took the biscuits out of the oven, and then tried to figure out how to get me up.
Here is this 78 year old man, wearing a catheter, about to undergo hernia surgery trying to lift 240 lbs of dead weight. It might have been funny, if it weren't so sorta desperate (though I did automatically think of the perfect title for this entry. To a writer, everything is material. At least I didn't ask Walt to take a picture.)
We tried everything. I discovered that I couldn't even slide my body an inch across the floor. I. could. not. move. What to do? What to do? The best Walt could do was to get me to a sitting up position
"This is why we need friends in this town," I told him, kind of laughing. We have lots of friends, but none of the kind I would call to help. Our neighbors are strangers after 40 years. There was no one. I also figured out that if we HAD "call in an emergency" friends, they would be our age and probably not able to help either.
I knew that if I called Ned he would come, but I didn't want him to come to Davis from Sacramento at 9:30 at night.
"How about Jessica?" Walt asked. Jessica is Ned's friend who works with the elderly and who has helped so much since I got the whatever it is.
Perfect. I hated to call her this late, especially since she has been married, now, for less than a week, but things were desperate. I called.
There was no answer.
I finally decided things were desperate enough to call 911, though I felt really stupid doing it. That's when I learned the have a "lift assist" program for people like me who have fallen and who can't get up.
Next thing I knew a fire engine was pulling into our drive way and three burly firemen in firemen costumes were striding through the house and in seconds I was sitting comfortably in the recliner.
I found a text message from Jessica (who had been in the shower) saying she had thought of the lift assist program and called them for me, and found out I had already called.
Nice program to know about but I hope I never need it again. How terribly embarrassing to be so fat you can't get off the floor.
I don't know how dinner was. I wasn't hungry. Turns out the biscuits were undercooked and instead of setting the microwave for 7 minutes for the spinach, I had set it for 7 seconds. I'm sure the steak was overdone.
I seem to be fine today, except for being sore (and still embarrassed), and realizing that even a call button would not have helped.
Next time I'll cook chicken.