Anyone of any age can fall and be unhurt, sustain a minor injury or even a serious one. We can’t predict outcomes. What we can do, as we age, is ensure that we keep our body as ‘fine tuned’ as possible, especially if we live with any sort of pre-existing condition or comorbidity. ‘Aging in place’ in the golden years can be a challenge for so many, especially those with limited resources to modify living spaces to accommodate changes to movement and mobility.
When I fell 3 times in a single day, something that has never happened in my entire life, I attribute the entire course of events and my responses to them to the absence of a ‘touch spot’ in my kitchen; something I’ve relied upon in the thirty years I’ve lived in my home — a fridge door handle. We don’t realize how important something is until it’s gone. For me, that fridge door handle was a transition point as I made my way around the hub of my home, touching counters as I moved along, often carrying a pot or a bowl in my other hand. I cannot carry things using both hands; never could. As a consequence, I have a very strong forearm and grip strength. We don’t often think about how important our hands are until one of them is unavailable. For me and others with mobility challenges who do walk, hands are our connection to our spaces, to touch surfaces so we can safely move about, to live independent lives, or to function as an equal partner in a marriage or other relationship, contributing our fair share to chores. Two hands contribute to our effective parenting, but they don’t define the success or failure of our parenting role.
Getting a handle on the fridge after the triple falls was absolutely critical. My attachment to fridge door handles began in childhood, when I was small and going through rehab at the polio clinic attached to the old Victoria Public Hospital and then as the first child patient at the Forest Hill Center for Rehabilitation. Early on, I was taught how to fall, with activities that were initially started by my father when I was a toddler. He’d stand me in front of him and push on my shoulder; front, back, left shoulder, right shoulder. The goal was for me not to topple over. The balance testing went on for several years. If I was going down and there was no saving myself, I was conditioned to go limp, like a rag doll. It’s the twisting in effort to save oneself that a fracture often occurs. Dad told me that bone is often broken before one hits the solid surface of floor or ground.
At 66 years of age, I still have remnants of the ‘startle reflex’ of babies, common in those with cerebral palsy. I’m able to control it as I’ve developed the ability to filter many sounds that would normally trigger a startle. causing me to lose balance or fall.
As example, turning the phone ringer off contributes to my upright mobility. As well, I have a ‘touch spot’ grab bar in the shower, and on either side of the therapy tub enclosure that occupies a space formerly used as a closet in my bedroom. My basement stairs have a railing on one side, with a medical grade grab bar mounted on the wall above; another bar is mounted on the opposite wall above the open space where there is no railing, positioned further along, to allow me to descend the last few steps to the den floor with that physical support. Safety always!
Stair climbing has always been a challenge, moreso as I get older; thus, the reason for the weekly physiotherapist visits. I have very good range of motion in my legs, all things considered, attributing this to my decades-long practice of adhering to healthy eating, focusing on nutrition that contributes to maintenance of bone density. Also, purposeful stretches throughout the day allow me to continue to do things so many do with ease. I know my limitations and don’t tempt fate by going beyond my body’s range. The ‘fridge thing’ was a total fluke. I’m not a faller.
My message to seniors, whether home alone or living with others: move/use it or lose it. Physiotherapists are like Santa. They know when you’ve been naughty or nice.
Carla MacInnis Rockwell is a freelance writer and disability rights advocate living outside Fredericton, NB with Miss Lexie, a rambunctious Maltese and Mr. Malcolm, the boisterous Havanese. She can be reached via email at Carla MacInnis Rockwell
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