I’ve spent years carefully avoiding another fall, but today, despite all my caution, I went down—again—right before our long-awaited trip. Same shoulder, same nightmare, different staircase. And all because of what I didn’t see coming.
You’d think after everything I’ve been through, I’d have mastered the art of walking down a staircase without incident. And the truth is—I have. Ever since I shattered my left shoulder back in 2016 (at a Christmas cookie exchange, of all places), I’ve taken every step with caution. I move slowly, hold onto railings like they’re made of gold, and double-check my footing before I commit to the next move. I don’t take risks.
That fall nearly wrecked me. I had surgery to replace the shoulder, and then another when the first one failed. A reverse shoulder replacement, they called it. Sounds backward, and honestly, it felt that way, too. That arm has never been the same. It still hurts most days, even after getting a nerve stimulator implanted to help manage the pain. Lately, though, it’s been better. Good enough that we finally felt confident booking a trip to our happy place—our little slice of paradise.
But here’s the problem: I have terrible depth perception. It’s been an issue for years, ever since my vision started to deteriorate. I don’t always see things clearly, especially steps and edges. I can misjudge a stair by just enough to make a disaster out of a normal day. That’s what caused my original fall, and today—damn it—it happened again.
I was on my way to the dentist, of all places. I entered through the back door, carefully approached the staircase—eight steps total—and began making my way down, as I always do, slowly and deliberately. I counted them like a mantra. One, two, three… seven.
And that’s where it went wrong.
I didn’t see the eighth step. My brain told me I was done. My foot didn’t agree. Down I went—fast and hard—crashing right onto my left shoulder. That shoulder. The one I’ve babied for years. The one that’s already been sliced, replaced, reversed, and zapped. And now? It’s throbbing. I don’t think it’s broken, but I also don’t think I’ll be lifting anything heavier than a regret for a while.
We’re supposed to leave next Thursday for a much-needed vacation. Instead of packing, I’m icing my arm and wondering if this is going to turn into another detour through hell. I’ve tried so hard to avoid this exact situation—been so mindful, so careful, so determined not to fall again.
But sometimes, no matter how careful you are, you just… miss a step.
And when you’ve already been through the fire once, it’s not just the pain that gets you—it’s the weight of it. The emotional sucker punch that makes you want to scream, “Not again.”
Today, I’m mad. I’m disappointed. And yes, I’m feeling sorry for myself. Because I’ve done everything I was supposed to do, and still—here I am, hurting again.
Maybe tomorrow will be better. But tonight, I’m giving myself permission to sit with the frustration, feel what I feel, and yes—cry if I need to.
Because when you’ve made it seven steps down with your head up and your heart full, and one single misstep knocks you flat—well, that deserves a moment.
