I fell a few mornings ago. Head over heels.  It was not elegant nor pretty.  No….not an ounce of grace in it.  Fortunately no one saw it.  Unfortunately, I fell on top of The Poodle.  Poor dear!  He’s none the worse for the early morning event (that would be even before the roosters were up and about).  Me? Nothing broken but not quite unscathed.

Yep. Nothing like taking a nice tumble before the sun is up.

So… I have this small rattan and iron table in the corner of my room, not too far from my nightstand. It’s express purpose in our new digs is for a place to charge all my devices. Placed nearly in front of said table is The Poodle’s comfy bed. He normally starts out on our bed, curled in a tight ball (or sprawled out, hogging space) at the foot of the bed between me and the Rocket-man. Sometime during the night he jumps down and takes his own bed.

On this morning I placed feet to the floor at 5:00 a.m. as usual. I took the three steps to the rattan table to retrieve my devices when for reasons unexplained I lost my balance and fell.

I fell on top of The Poodle, and took a hard face-plant on the floor, but not before catching my lip and chin squarely on the edge of the iron table. 

The taste of blood was immediate. Oh boy. This is NOT good.

This must be what an uppercut punch to the jaw feels like, I thought.  Stars swam around my head in the early morning darkness as I ran to the bathroom to assess the damage.  I was sure I had knocked out my front teeth.

Naturally, Rocket-man woke with a start from all the racket.  “What happened?” he asked in his early morning groggy-voice.

I was already in the bathroom dousing my mouth with ice-cold water.  There was lots of blood, as expected, from a cut lip.

“Get ice!” was all I good muster as I filled my mouth with water.  As I look in the mirror I’m awash with relief.  I still have all my teeth.

“What happened,” he asked again.

This time I yelled, wincing in pain as I did so:  “GET ICE!”

I’ll admit, my tone wasn’t kind but, well…In the moment I was quite certain that I had broken my jaw.

Rocket-man ran downstairs and was back lickety-split with a big bowl of ice.

I looked at him incredulously as he placed the bowl in my hands.  Seriously?

It takes him a nano-second to understand (plus, sees that I am about to become a purple minion).  Oh yeah….you need to apply ice ASAP so you need a bag for the ice.

In a flash he’s back with a bag.  Whew.  Explosion averted.

Ice, Ice baby was the mantra of the day.  I spent the better part of the day applying ice on and off.  Days later my jaw is still smarting but my lip is on the mend.  Thankfully with all that icing I don’t look like I’ve just stepped outside of a boxing ring following a bout.

I’ll take that as bliss.