I tripped while I was walking with my beautiful daughter, Simone, yesterday morning–we were on our way to check out a new discount clothing store on upper Broadway–and landed face down on the sidewalk. Blood was gushing from my head but I had no idea where it originated. As I assessed whether I was intact–teeth ok? Check. No broken bones? Check. Nose and eyes ok? Check– Simone ran into a grocery for napkins and a small crowd of women gathered to offer me handkerchiefs, tissues and conflating words. Not a man in the group.
After a few minutes I was able to get up from the ground and determine that my upper lip, inside and out–was pretty smashed. FBI agent that I am, I soon realized that my face had landed precisely on top of the chunky ring on the middle finger of my right hand and the ring had cut the lip clear through to the outside. I thanked the lovely group of women as Simone and I got into a cab and headed to to the ER at Mount Sinai hospital. We were closer to Lenox Hill but I would have left there in a body bag so I opted for a real hospital.
After making sure the fall had not caused anything more severe than a mangled lip, a fabulous PA (physician assistant)* cleaned the wound and meticulously stitched the inner and outer upper lip (I stopped counting after about 12 stitches). It was nice to clutch Simone’s hand for comfort. After the novocaine wore off, I popped three Tylenol to reduce the discomfort. The lip is swollen, but I can eat (thank heavens). The PA gave me a prescription for antibiotics.
We don’t know what’s going to befall us when we wake. I’m grateful the ring didn’t puncture an eye, I didn’t break my jaw, any teeth, wrists, arms or legs, and I’m not dead.
I tripped a few months ago and escaped with only some bad bruises. I was wearing floppy moccasins then, and today I was wearing boots with thick rubber souls that caught on an uneven edge of sidewalk. I’ve got to walk more carefully and wear different shoes.
I was at a party a few months ago where a man slid on the marble floor and went flying. A FOF woman in the drugstore told me that a fall she took a few years ago caused her to bite through her lip. And Simone said a young co-worker broke her jaw and had 119 stitches after fainting in her apartment a few weeks ago.
I’m grateful I’m still in one piece, more or less.