During a commercial, I got up from my comfy chair to go to the bathroom and fell to the floor—surprised but unfazed. I must have tripped on something, I thought. I tried to stand but fell again. My right leg was loose and floppy like a rag doll. There was no strength, no rigidity, nothing.
“Mom!” I yelled from the concrete floor of the family room toward the kitchen upstairs where Mom was preparing supper. “Something’s wrong with my leg!”
There was no response.
“Mom,” I shouted again, desperate, “I can’t walk. Something’s wrong with my leg.” I heard metal pans and lids rattle as she closed the pullout cabinet shelves, then heard her heavy footsteps come down the wooden stairs to the family room.
Even with me lying on the floor in front of her, she asked with more puzzlement than alarm, “What’s the matter, Kerry?”
“I don’t know. My right leg just stopped working. I got up to go to the bathroom and just fell down. I can’t make…it’s just wobbly.”
…If this episode brought back frightful memories for Mom, she didn’t reveal it to me.