Paul and I get up early and walk Jack, the dog, almost every morning. We don’t have sidewalks where we live, but are very happy to have a “non-motorized trail.” This is new and we are very grateful to be able to use it. The only drawback to a trail versus sidewalks is that, although it gets plowed, it doesn’t get salted. A slight difference, you might say. You would be wrong.

This morning the trail was slick with ice. We have been shuffling along all week now, but this morning it was especially treacherous. Despite the scraping gait of an 80 year-old polio survivor I still fell. Hard. I managed to hit both wrists and my left elbow before falling heavily and flatly on my back. I took a moment to lie there and, alternately and softly, swear and moan – it was my visceral response – a vulgar whimper of sorts.

Jack waited patiently while Paul carefully pulled me up.

Normally I am the one cracking the whip to keep us going on these walks, as I am the one who gets to stay home with the dog. This morning I was ready to pack it in. A walk, under these conditions, didn’t seem possible, but Paul kept going. We acclimated. It was slow going and arduous but we made it.

My wrists and elbow are fine, but my back hurts and there doesn’t seem to be enough room for my right lung anymore.

I am awaiting a call back from the chiropractor.