~it would seem to be easier that way~

My very early childhood years were spent growing up on our family farm nestled deep in the sand hills of Harvey County, Kansas.  It was before we moved to Haven and so all seven of us kids attended school in the town of Burrton which was only 6 miles away from our home there.  Up until the second semester of my third grade year that's where I went.  I made many friends among my classmates, learned how fun it was to read and write, played on the playground, and had fun just being a kid.  And oh, one other thing.

I fell down.
Not just once in a while either but a lot.
A whole lot.

Most kids get their share of scrapes, skinned knees, cuts, and bruises.  It's kind of one of the things that you expect from them.  Just wash it off with soap and water, grab another bandaid if it was really needed, dab on the Mercurochrome (and for you young kids who are shaking your head in wonder now, you'll just have to ask a grownup to explain it for you) and things seemed good as new.  The little 8-year old girl that I used to be got her allotment of those injuries just like all the others.  But then as time went on it seemed as if it was happening to me all of the time, so much so that my teachers and my parents became concerned.  Enough of those "red flags" arose for my mother to make a doctor appointment for me to see Dr. Olson over at the Bethel Clinic in Newton.

I don't have many memories of going to the doctor as a kid and perhaps that is because back in those days people didn't just pick up the phone and make an appointment to see the family physician.  Times were tight for lots of families, our huge family most certainly included.  You know come to think of it, I don't believe we even had medical insurance of any kind back in the early days when I was very little.  So for me to be taken to the doctor just because I seemed to fall down a lot was pretty serious business.

Doc Olson looked me over and checked for whatever would have been of concern for him.  I can remember being scared of the appointment but not scared of him.  He was a nice man who loved children and I guess that's why my folks chose him for those times when needs arose that could not be taken care of by simply taking a quick "look see" and sending us on our way.

He told my mom that he was positive that I was growing too fast and that nothing serious was wrong.  Sooner or later I'd catch up with myself and all would be well.  He must have been right because in time my "meeting up with the concrete" moments slowed down until they pretty much stopped all together.  Just as an aside here, maybe that's why I am so short!  I did all my growing rather quickly and by the sixth grade I was as tall as I was ever going to get.  Makes perfect sense to me now.

I've fallen a couple of times since we moved here to Burkburnett with yesterday morning being the latest one.  The first time was back in June when we were over at the farmer's market in Wichita Falls.  I was not paying attention to what I was doing.  That's for sure.  I didn't see the unpainted step up from the street and fell flat on my face.  I landed hard on both knees and even though nothing was broken I definitely wore the bruises that came about for the rest of the month.  It was strange to see the black and blue marks form as they ran straight down from my knee to my ankle.  Yesterday's mishap came from stepping off of one lone step that I was not familiar with.  It was my fault entirely.  Luckily Mike was there and saw me lying very unladylike on the sidewalk and came to help me.  I felt my ankle roll with an accompanying popping sound.  I was sure that it was broken but after a quick trip to the local ER, we learned it was only a very bad sprain.  This morning my right foot looks very sad.

In these final few months before I turn 60, I am reminded that I have got to be more careful.  It's been a long time since I had a bone density test done (I know, I know).  I don't remember when my last one was done.  Maybe 2007?  You get the picture.  It's been too long.  Not sure how to remember to pay more attention to how I do things.  Seems like the traumatic things that have happened to me have been the ones that taught me the most.  I no longer jump curbs on a bike nor do I take a ride on an escalator just semi-seriously.   I'm looking for a way to remember to be careful that does not involve having to break a bone or two in the first place.

It would seem to be easier that way.

I'm pretty sure that the stock market shareholders in the Mercurochrome industry got a whole lot richer with our family around.  Not a one of us got sick from its supposedly ill effects.