It all happened so fast.

I'd just left the Embassy checkpoint and was cruising down the sidewalk when my ankle inexplicably turned. I quickly tried to shift my weight so as not to hurt the ankle, but because I was carrying a big bag in one arm, I couldn't regain my balance. My left shoulder then clipped a lamp post as I fell forward which sent me ricocheting in the opposite direction. I smack into  a retaining wall with my right hip, hit my head on the fence above the wall, and end up sprawled on  the ground.

That's when I said the F word. Strike one.

The irony of it all. The whole reason I'm here to start with is because I'm having back pain. I'm on my way to the chiropractor, and I'm carrying a big bag because I stopped at the Embassy store to buy, among other things, the ThermaCare adhesive heat packs that keep me moving when my back is threatening to spasm.

A woman rushes up to me to see if I'm OK.

"Are you dizzy?" she asks.

"No," I answer, not quite truthfully. I have the lowest blood pressure in the world. Typically 100/60 or less. Any sudden change in elevation makes me light-headed. So rapidly bouncing off several vertical surfaces and landing on my horizontal axis makes my head fuzzy. But my vision's fine, always a good sign. I slowly get up. The left ankle is sore but I can walk on it without problem. My right wrist hurts from trying to break my fall. My right glute is all freaked out from trying to save my ass. It's cramping. But I can stand. And I can walk to the chiropractor. Though my lower back is complaining a bit. Ouch, ouch, ouch.

I thank the woman very much for stopping to check on me.

I walk even more slowly to my doctor's office. He is, as always, unrelentingly chipper. This is the first time I've ever had to come see him for anything other than a regularly scheduled appointment. I tell him about my spill on the sidewalk.

"Ah, it's not enough to be coming here, you have to create a little drama with the back pain!" he says with a broad smile. I can appreciate the twinkle in his eye, but I am not laughing at this one.

I tell him how my back has felt "off" since Sunday morning, that I have pain radiating around my rib cage on one side,  and that my muscles have felt pulled out of shape, just a breath away from spasms for days now. I've only had this particular set of symptoms once before, about three years ago, and that time my back did go into spasms which laid me low for five days and was unequivocally the worst pain I'd ever experienced in my entire life (and yeah, that includes unmedicated childbirth).

 He examines my back and locates the problem almost immediately--one of my ribs has slipped out of position (my rib cage is a little "deformed" by the scoliosis on that side).

"Ah, this is easy to fix!" And boom--he fixes it. I'm amazed. Immediate relief.

But he's concerned about the fall and its affect on my hip and low back. That right side hurts and is a little spastic. He tells me to keep my regularly scheduled appointment next week. Except I can't. We're going to be traveling. The whole week? Yeah, the whole week! He really wants to followup on the ribs and low back, and I sure don't want to go on vacation worrying about them. I make an appointment for Friday so he can check me one more time. He tells me to watch my step.

I walk back to the Metro station, stopping at a grocery store to pick up ingredients for the sandwiches I need to bring to E-Grrrl's class tomorrow. Another bag to carry. At least they'll balance each other out. When I arrive at the Metro station at my destination, I need to catch a bus. I have to wait 25 minutes. I'm getting tired and hungry. I can smell the food from a nearby pizza place and it's killing me.

Where's my bus?

I make this trip often enough that I know the schedule by heart. I see Bus 30 for Wezembeek-Opem show up. I'm waiting for 316 to Leuven. Should be next. A bus pulls up, the electronic sign on its front that normally displays the bus number is turned off. The driver is wearing an orange construction worker vest--what's up with that?

He gets off the bus with a tool kit in his hand and goes to the bus behind him, Bus 317. He works on something inside that bus, talking to the driver, then returns the tool kit to his bus. I look at my watch. My bus should be leaving now. Where is it? Is this bus my bus?

Just then, a new driver appears from nowhere and hops into the bus in front of me. People begin getting onto it even though the sign is not turned on displaying a number. I assume it's my bus. What else could it be? We're supposed to be "next" in the usual departure order. I get on and take a seat. The bus takes off.

A few minutes later, the cold truth hits me:  "This is not my bus!"

How do I know it's not my bus? It's being passed on the left by the bus I should be on. Yes, the bus that was parked behind this one and that was worked on by the guy with the tool box had morphed from 317 Kortenberg to 316 Leuven.

To add to my annoyance, we are stopped at a light. The bus I need to be on is NEXT TO US IN THE LEFT HAND TURN LANE and there's absolutely nothing I can do about it. I want to hurl myself out the window and yell "Stop!Wait for me!"  But I can't. 

Instead I say the F word in my head. Strike two. I am stupid, stupid, stupid.

I ring the  bell so the driver will let me off at the next stop, wherever that is. My bus has turned and disappeared and I don't have a prayer of catching it now. The next bus to my destination isn't for another hour. I want to cry. I'm getting sore all over from the fall. The ibuprofen I took earlier is wearing off.

I get off the bus and carrying my two bags, walk all the way back to the intersection where I saw my real bus turn. I walk down the street until I see another bus stop. I won't be able to get a direct route home. I'll have to grab one bus, get off, and then catch another to get close to my house.

I wait. And wait. And I think about food. I don't eat the Easter candy I bought for the kids' baskets that is weighing one bag down. I don't eat the ham I bought for E-Grrrl's class. I don't slip into the bakery across the street for a fresh roll or loaf of bread.

All told it takes me two hours to get home from the center of Brussels to the stop near my house. I need to pick up a prescription at the pharmacy there, but it closed 15 minutes ago and will remain closed for another 75 minutes.

I get home just in time to take some more ibuprofen and blog away my stress.  I hear the sofa calling my name. It's starting to rain. Is that SNOW mixed with the rain? Oh no.  Strike three. I'm out.  I won't be venturing back to the pharmacy. Really, I've just had enough today.

April 5, 2006