I fell this morning. I was trying to pick a plastic bag off the floor. I wasn't wearing shoes, just socks ("no time to put shoes on this morning", I'd said to myself as I hurried to take children to school). As I reached down to grab the bag, my feet slipped backwards off my wheechair footplate and I tumbled forward gracelessly to the floor. Given that it's a long crawl from the kitchen to the sitting room (the only place I can get back up when I'm downstairs), and given that it was entirely avoidable, I think I need to reassess the not-wearing-shoes approach. It's especially ironic since only last night Annika wouldn't let me load the dishwasher ("I can't bear watching you lean so far over. You might fall"). Signs missed. Shoes next time.
