After the Fall

When I mentioned it to my friend, Jennifer, as a reason for postponing our meeting – coffee and catch-up in the upper floor café at Foyles bookshop – she was briskly solicitous. “A fall, was it, or a FALL?”

I knew what she meant.

When my father first fell, really fell, he was getting off the bus outside where he and my mother lived, a small council block where the road levels out across from the reservoir on Dartmouth Park Hill. Bag of shopping in one hand, the other touching the railing of the bus briefly before stepping clear, he could as well, in that moment, have been stepping into space. Nothing until he landed heavily on one side, the few bits and pieces from his bag spilling out – sugar, tea, a small Hovis, frozen peas – his hip broken.

The ambulance took him to the Whittington, a little higher up the hill, and though he was treated and in time discharged – discharged too soon with a walking frame he rarely used – it was the slow beginning of the end. Within those moments he had begun the journey from being a physically confident elderly man in his 70s – he still talked about getting back on his bike – to someone whose movement and memory were increasingly uncertain, who was never the same again.

My first serious fall (or FALL) occured ten years or so ago, when I was in my early 70s. My partner, Sarah, and I were amongst the crowd hurrying away from White Hart Lane, a bustling thicket of mostly Spurs supporters spreading across Tottenham High Road on their way home. We were hurrying more than was safe, more than was necessary, stepping off and on the kerb into the road and back again. I saw the coil of orange wire before I could react to it, before my foot snagged inside it and the force of my movement sent me crashing to the ground. Some people stepped around me; others stopped to help. Somehow Sarah manoevred me towards the nearest shop – a women’s hairdressers – and asked if I could sit down while I recovered. One of the customers was a nurse, who, after a cursory examination, said we should phone for an ambulance: she thought I had dislocated my shoulder. 

Not so many minutes later, or so it seemed – I think I might have been moving in and out of consciousness – I was strapped in the body of the ambulance, Sarah holding my hand while I gulped down gas and air and the driver used his siren to get us through the crowd and on our way to Whipps Cross Hospital.

An ex-ray proved the off-duty nurse to have been correct in her diagnosis; the doctor on duty gave me a choice of local or general anaesthetic while my shoulder was reset; without hesitation I chose the latter and around an hour later I woke up in the recovery ward with my shoulder back in place and an appointment with the physio department at the Whittington Hospital. Yes, that Whittington Hospital.

Since then, a minor fall some five years back when I failed to negotiate a kerb correctly, resulting in a minor fracture in my right hand – more trips to the Whittington, more physio – the occasional stumble out walking on Hampstead Heath – nothing serious, and then, two weeks ago, two weeks ago today, as Sarah and I were walking at a perfectly resonable pace along Goodge Street in Central London, on our way to see an exhibition of Caroline Walker’s paintings at the Fitzrovia Chapel, Sarah inadvertantly trod on one of my laces which had come undone, and I was pitched forward onto the pavement, face first. 

Blood was gushing – yes, really – gushing from my nose and the back of my neck hurt like hell. People came running out of the adjacent restaurant with tissues, ice & offers of help; a passing London cabbie stopped and offered to take me to the nearest A&E, which he did, refusing a fare.

After due examination, I was admitted to the Acute Medical Unit at UCLH with a nasal bone fracture, a fractured wrist, two fractured ribs, and, most worrying, a spinal fracture at C1 (the top of the spinal column). After six days, various ex-rays and an MRI, I was discharged. My nose and ribs have been designated “self healing”, my wrist and lower arm are in plaster, and for the spinal fracture I have a neck collar – the fancifully named  Miami J – to be worn 24/7 for twelve weeks. Fortunately pain is minimal, though sleep doesn’t come easy, and friends have stepped up to help Sarah remove and re-fit the collar every couple of days, for neck cleaning and general maintenance.

I’m wary about walking without assistance and it’s only the last couple of days that I’ve made it to the coffee shop around the corner without hanging onto Sarah’s arm. We both understand the importance of getting beyond that as soon as possible.

So … a fall or a FALL?

Time will tell.

Balance at our age is everything:

Like a perfect sentence depending
on that all-important semi-colon;
that comma,

Everything up to and including
the final full stop.

from Summer Notebook, John Harvey 2021

Author: John Harvey


21 thoughts on “After the Fall”

  1. So sorry to hear about your latest fall John. Here’s to a speedy recovery and full mobility. Patricia Gould 🥃

    Sent from my iPad


  2. I’m very sorry to hear about your fall and the injuries you sustained.
    I feel sure that you will be a good and sensible patient and will soon be back to full fitness.
    Love from Loughborough,
    Andrew Taylor

  3. John,
    By way of synchronicity we’ve been exploring, somewhat belatedly, the novels of Elizabeth Taylor (after dipping our toes in her short fiction). Early doors in ‘A Wreath of Roses’, the central character encounters, after a 12 month absence, her old Finishing School friend’s governess (this is Elizabeth Taylor after all) sleeping in a chair: ‘…she looked…not just one year older, but as if age had been for a long time gathering itself for a spring and had now quite overcome her.’

    I realized I was getting old when I saw that your old mucker, John Cale, had his 80th birthday the other day.

    Just keep hanging onto Sarah’s arm.

    Love to you both. Keep safe.

  4. Best wishes for a proper recovery, John. So sorry to read of your fall although, as always, you tell it so well. Take care,
    Susana Llauradó (a devoted reader)
    Collbató, Catalonia, Spain.

  5. oh John, so sorry to hearmy minor missing-the-kerb last week and falling – heavily – on my coccyxpales in comparisonfortunately a borrowed cushion with a hole in the right placeseems to relieve most of the pain whatever any fall gets one all shook up

    get well soon as they say –               yours,  Mimi (Sanderson)

  6. Minor or not, it’s still an unpleasant shock. And the trauma lingers … I’m pleased you didn’t hurt yourself more than you did. We oldies …

  7. Mine to come! I’ve had a couple, but thankfully managed to retrieve the old bones from the ground with the help of friends and a trusty stick. Thanks to Covid 19 my doctor has grown disinterested in my requests to take a look at my R ankle and R knee. Left having been done 7 years ago. Stay safe John there aren’t a lot of us left. Bird Lives. Brian 85.

  8. I was only thinking the other day that I had not seen any of your “posts” recently. Sorry to learn about the fall – but on the bright side you do make it interesting to read ! My dad seemed to have a similar experience to your own, different type of accident but he never managed to reach his previous level of activity either.

    Take it easy John and thanks for all the pleasurable hours your writing has (and still is) given me over the years.

    Best regards Ken Appleton

  9. That sounds nasty John. Wishing you a very speedy recovery. My speciality in recent years has been breaking bones in my foot including a couple that have puzzled those who should know. “How have you broken 3 and 4 but not 2 and 5 …… ?”

  10. Crikey that’s some list of breaks! Sending love, gentle hugs and healing vibes all the way from our windy Island. Jxxxx

    > > > > > > On Fri Mar 11 2022 18:11:42 GMT+0000 (Greenwich Mean Time) Some Days You > Do … wrote: > >

  11. Thanks, Ken. Trying not to get too impatient on mornings like this – warm, blue skies -when I don’t feel up to walking as far as the Heath.. But it will improve … Best wishes, John

  12. Thanks, Jacky! Gentle hugs, even notional ones, are just the thing … John xxx

  13. Oh, goodness, so very sorry to hear this, hope it’s slowly but surely getting better now. No fall is quite minor, as I’ve discovered a few times myself. The silliest accidents seem to take the longest to recover from. Wishing you the very, very best.

  14. Thanks, Marina. As far as I can tell, the fractures are gradually healing; I’m back at the fracture clinic in a few weeks, hopefully to have the cast removed from my wrist and arm, which will make day-to-day live easier.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

McMinn and Cheese

A chip on my shoulder you can see from space

Salt and Stone Poetry

Writers & writing: books, movies, art & music - the bits & pieces of a (retiring) writer's life

A blog about music by Richard Williams

Alex Ross: The Rest Is Noise

Writers & writing: books, movies, art & music - the bits & pieces of a (retiring) writer's life

Woody Haut's Blog

Writers & writing: books, movies, art & music - the bits & pieces of a (retiring) writer's life


Writers & writing: books, movies, art & music - the bits & pieces of a (retiring) writer's life

%d bloggers like this: