I am trying to venture into internet communications. It is scary and a chore for someone who is 47 and the last in the neighborhood to adopt new technology.

Last week, I tumbled down a steep, long mountain. I wish I could call it a ski accident, but alas, I was simply standing on my skis, making my first turn off the top of a ridge when I guess I caught an edge. At first, it was just fast falling with the sound of my body bouncing along. I was tumbling headfirst and I thought, maybe, I might die. The thought was momentary because I immediately decided it would be too dramatic for my kids. I was with six kids — most of them teens. All six were wearing ski helmets. I was not. I hoped they weren’t watching. Then I crouched into a fetal position after trying, for just a moment, to protect my head with my arms. The fetal position was good as I began somersaulting which seemed faster than my momentum before but, also, gave me hope, that I had a chance to protect my head. I tried to get my legs out in front of me, but I was in the air so much that I couldn’t tell when I was on the ground and where I was pointed. I worried that my glasses were gone. I thought, “How am I going to drive all these kids back to the lodge if I can’t see?” I was so calm. Then . . . it was over. I was near the bottom although wherever I ended up was still steep as the people who brought my skis down couldn’t actually stop. They had to drop the skis as they were flying by. One of the kids was there. She was totally peaceful and helpful as I put my skiis back on. I stood before I knew not to stand and I skied before I thought if that would do any damage. I skied to the bottom and connected with some of the kids in the group. My older son was in total denial.

“How did you get down here so fast?”

“I fell”

“You’re okay.”

I agreed. I was also in a state of denial. I was okay. I skiied slowly (and blindly although how many times have we all skiied blind in bad snowstorms so that was no big deal) down to the chairlift to connect with the others. I told them to keep skiing and that I would call the ski patrol to see if they might be able to recover my glasses (what was I thinking?). Plus, I let all of those kids go up one more time to look for my glasses (how could I let them ski where I had just taken such a nasty tumble?) and, admittedly, they are good skiiers, but why was I so ready to let them go? I needed down time. I got that. The ski patrol ordered me not to move until two of them checked my neck and my spine and recommended I travel down in a sled with a backboard and be transported to Auburn General for x-rays. I declined. I signed two forms declining. I released them of everything except leading me down to the lodge mid-way up the mountain. They were going that way anyway and they complied.

I had a huge lunch. Why not? I was checking to see if I had a concussion and I figured I would have a headache and throw up if I did. I had to check that theory. The kids showed up. We all ate together. I borrowed a pair of glasses. I called my husband and my dear friend. I skiied down. I hot tubbed and put snow on my neck and shoulders.

 I walked four miles the next day on flat ground. All things considered, I felt great. The next day, I was very close to getting on my skiis, but too many people (including the ski patrol) convinced me to get cleared by a doctor before getting back on skis. People had horrific stories. But, I met another woman who took the same fall — also helmetless. She talked with me and told me it took her a while to feel better. I already felt better. I was ahead of the game. I stayed of skis on Thursday. I got contact lenses Fed-Exed up and I drove home Thursday evening.

I was sore. I was aching. Duh. What I was not prepared for was the weeping that kicked in on Friday once I was safely ensconced back at work.  What I did not count on was that I would cry at the drop of a hat or at the sight of some eagles soaring through Lincoln Park on Sunday. What I really, really, really didn’t count on was the extreme pain I felt with every fiber of my being (save my head and my feet) on the following Monday and Tuesday — a full week after the fall. What I really didn’t count on was the high, high I felt at being alive coupled with the depression I felt because I was feeling so sorry for myself. But . . . each day is better and next week, I am going to schedule some cranial sacral work.

So, I call this, my first-ever blogpost– falling slowly named after the song in Once, because I did and I am here to share the experience for my own therapy as well as for anyone who cares to read it.