Last night, around 10:15 pm, I fell coming down from my third floor loft.
Footing lost, my back skidded along the edge of the stairs, my fingers grappled for something to hold, to stop the sudden motion, finding nothing. Propelled forward toward the floor, disorientation clouded my mind for a few precious moments.
My teeth slammed, hard — smack — into the wood floor and a shock of sharp pain reverberated through my face.
In the minutes after I couldn’t let go of my face, I could quite feel what was broken, what was in place. Was I shattered? Did I still have all my teeth?
My alarmed husband stood over me, his face a mirror of my own fears. I let go of my cheek and asked him if it was broken. He reached out to touch, but pulled back, examining instead with his eyes. Nothing yet, not even…
View original post 565 more words