I can’t count the number of times I’ve said aloud, to oh so many different people, and of course, to myself, that life can change in a second. That we’re all a phone call or a misstep away from disaster. That we can’t constantly hold that vulnerability in the front of our minds all the time because we’d be too scared to function in daily life. As I’ve gotten older, and have unfortunately been in the position of having my life as I’ve known it, suddenly shift permanently for one reason or other, that awareness is taking up more brain space than it once did. Take this past week for example. After a packed Thanksgiving holiday, which stretched into a sixteen day visit from my son and his family, I spent a weekend in Chicago, catching up with rarely-seen relatives and old friends. These days, I’m trying to pack a lot of activities into my life, taking full advantage of the moments when my body, albeit less than perfect, is still capable of pushing its limits. Anyway, I got home Sunday evening, pretty tired but with a prepared list of deferred chores to tackle during the upcoming days. A bit of good news was that the significant amount of snow that was on the ground while I was away had melted, including bulk of the thick ice layer that had covered my driveway. Only scattered rough patches left, not as unnerving or dangerous as one big slippery slick. Or so I thought.
I tackled that chores list for a few hours on Monday and Tuesday mornings, mostly running errands. I stopped only for a midday swimming break. When I was done, I went back home, turning my attention to inside jobs and eventually, allowing myself some downtime in the house. This strategy was working for me, as I recovered from all the holiday and travel tumult. Dividing my tasks into manageable chunks of time was a good strategy. So Wednesday morning started just like the other days. I put my coat on, grabbed my purse and some boxes to be mailed, and headed out to the garage. While I was walking, I noted where the remaining ice was on the driveway, reminding myself to walk carefully. But literally, at almost the exact second I had that thought, I apparently stepped on that tough-to-spot winter hazard, the dreaded black ice patch, and found myself headed face first into the concrete pad in front of the garage. A total faceplant.
In the nanosecond of consciousness I had before I hit the ground, I remembered to pull my shoulders back to protect my arms so I wouldn’t land on my wrists. Instead my chin took the hit, bouncing up, my teeth smashing into my lips. Head wounds bleed so much. I found some napkins in my coat pocket which I jammed between my lips to stanch the bleeding. With nothing to hold onto to pull myself up, I remembered this old people video about how to stand up from a flat position, one that I’d recently seen on Instagram. Yeah, I watch all those senior infomercials now. Amazingly, I got myself into the downward dog yoga position, walked my feet toward my hands, pushed hard and was suddenly upright. I got a big hole in my bottom lip, abrasions along the upper one, really hurt my jaw and had some whiplash. But my teeth were all fine and I didn’t break anything. Kind of a lucky miracle. It could have been so much worse. But it wasn’t. No one was around me. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I was able to think and to not get undone by pain or anxiety. My reflexes, physical and mental, still worked for me, in an unexpected, startling situation. Lucky indeed.
A couple of days later, another snow storm arrived, coupled with frigid temperatures. Late at night, I shoveled my sidewalks. Because I no longer can do all the outside cleanup, I was relieved to see the small company I hired a few years ago, show up with a truck which plowed my driveway, leaving a path to get me from the garage to the street. But I was leery after my fall. Aware that big ice was still lurking below the new snow pack, I cleared the all the snow and ice on the pavement from my house to mid-driveway. I had no desire to walk over any treacherous ground back to the garage, so I parked my car, outside the garage, on an angle, next to that clean walkway.
The next day, I did my morning things, went swimming and came back home for a while, before heading out to an afternoon eye doctor appointment. I can’t exactly say what happened next, but my best guess is that I didn’t correctly gauge my turning radius from the unaccustomed angle I’d parked at to avoid the ice. Within seconds of trying to back out, my car had slid out of the plowed pathway. I skidded onto a pile of snow and ice covering a railroad tie which separates my garden from the driveway. Is there such a thing as beyond stuck? Because that’s what I was. I started doing the rocking thing, shifting up and back from drive to reverse and cutting my wheels to escape the rut. But I wound up digging myself in deeper, and making a huge racket while doing it.
That noise brought my neighbor out of her house to offer help, but I knew someone bigger and stronger than her would be required for my mess. Fortunately, my son-in-law who lives right across the street from me, had just arrived at his house. He came over and immediately realized that my passenger side tire which wasn’t making contact with the ground. He retrieved a piece of carpet and some wood to close the gap and restore traction. With him pushing, I began the rocking thing again. After less than a minute or so, I could feel the car rising over the rut, so I gunned the motor. And just like that, I was free. Except I was in reverse gear, foot still on the accelerator, moving at a high rate of speed and barreling toward my neighbors’ vehicles, which were parked adjacent to my side of the driveway.
The sequence of events is blurry to me. My son-in-law yelling, “STOP!” Me glancing over my shoulder to see those cars and suddenly swerving away to avoid a collision, then swerving the car again to avoid plowing back into the railroad tie and ultimately, slamming on the brakes before plunging backwards into the street. I don’t think even a minute had passed. But I was safe. No collisions. No disasters. My son-in-law’s expression as he approached me was priceless, a mixture of shock and relief. But I didn’t have time to think about it – I hurried away so I wouldn’t miss my appointment which would’ve taken months to reschedule. Later, when I came back home, I photographed the skid marks to remind myself of that close call. And I talked with my son-in-law who figured out how my unusual parking angle had contributed to getting stuck in the first place.
The winter week still wasn’t finished with me. Two days later, when heading out in the morning to meet my daughter for our weekly breakfast, I found my car utterly dead, a victim of the brutal weather. That incident required a visit from the motor club, whose car-charging guy offered me solace by reminding me that I was only one of many that day whose vehicles were no match for the cold. Then my garage door froze too, an issue which has continued for days. But on I went, jiggling and adjusting whatever glitched, just trying to lead my daily life.
The following day’s tasks were two-fold. I had a scheduled visit to my health clinic for lab work ahead of an upcoming doctor appointment. As the blast of frigid temperatures caused school cancellation, I also planned on getting breakfast for my grandsons after I finished up at the lab. After my blood test, I headed to my car, ready to bring food to the boys. But when I lowered my car window to clear some ice covering my rear view mirror, the window got stuck in the down position.
With windchills in double digits below zero, all I could think was really ?? Were all these incidents a series of cosmic messages telling me to just stay inside until spring?? Enough already. But rather than give up, I picked up breakfast, delivered it to the kids and made my way to a service garage where the kindly owner squeezed me in for an immediate fix. That was a relief. I was glad for it, and also, that I was still resourceful enough to find quick solutions to these inconvenient and annoying situations.
I know that based on my age, now 74, a certain amount of brain function decline is common. This is the kind of stuff I wasn’t thinking about ten years ago. But I’m hoping to be on the outside of that inevitable curve. So I’m trying to do what I can to keep myself as sharp as possible. Exercise, every word puzzle created and mostly, the right foods. I guess I’ll have to see what happens.
“The brain’s neural pathways — the routes signals take — start to change, too. Over time, some connections weaken or get less efficient, like an old highway with potholes. This affects how fast we process and respond to things, whether it’s a loud noise or a sudden movement. Hormones and blood flow play a part, too. Reduced oxygen or nutrient flow to the brain can further impair cognitive processing speed. By the time someone’s in their 70s or 80s, these changes add up. These changes make reflexes noticeably slower and less responsive. It’s not just about feeling slower; tests show that reaction time by age can double compared to someone in their 20s. That’s why older adults might struggle with split-second decisions. For example, stepping on the brake or dodging an obstacle.” Medline
What I do know for certain is that I’m going to be glad about every single thing I can still manage without anything type of catastrophe. And that’s a good plan as today, I had another challenging situation with my vehicle come straight at me, out of nowhere. As I was driving down a two-lane through street with no stop signs in my direction, I suddenly noticed, through my peripheral vision, that a car on a street perpendicular to me was racing through her stop sign. I accelerated, hoping to avoid getting crunched in my driver’s seat. That worked partially. Instead of that direct hit, the other driver rammed into the rear of my car, completely knocking off my back bumper. Fortunately no one was injured. When the police arrived, the offending driver was issued a citation which means that her insurance will have to compensate me for what will be extensive repairs.
As I said, I feel lucky that I still have quick reflexes and that I’m still uninjured and alive after all my recent mishaps. But there’s a part of me that thinks I should just stay home for a while. I’ve had my share of problems. Now wouldn’t it be nice if life worked that way?