Duane asked me if I was going to write about this and I didn’t answer. I figured I would but I kind of thought I would have been fully recovered by now.
It was dark, exactly a week ago about this time of day and we were headed out of Chelsea and back to Brooklyn. We were crossing 8th Avenue and I was talking to Peggi. I had my hands in my pocket because it was cold and I was looking for the subway stop on the other corner when my right foot tripped over a curb, part of the meridian in the middle of the road. I went down quick. I think I broke my fall with my knee and my elbow but mostly it was a body slam to the concrete. It knocked the wind out me and I found myself gasping for breath for the duration of the next light. I shook it off and finished crossing the street but felt weak so we went in the coffee shop on the corner. I sat at a stool but felt like I was going to faint. Instead of doing that I laid down on the floor of the coffee shop.
Peggi went for water and I guess the workers called an ambulance. By the time they showed up I was fine. They checked my blood pressure, cracked a few jokes and I had to sign something that said I refused treatment. I guess I had a premonition that something like this would happen. The day before I was reminding Peggi how my Aunt Isabel fell in the city when she was down for my brother’s wedding. They got married in a restaurant on Morningside Heights at the top of a building on Columbia’s campus. She was probably about the same age I am now.
I still can’t roll over in bed, or laugh without shooting pain but it could have been a lot worse. I might need a helmet or something. Duane took this shot earlier in the day on his phone.