There are times when my husband needs a little assistance while walking. Yesterday, we were driving to an appointment 3 hours from our home. On the way, we made a stop at a gas station to buy a drink and use the restroom. (We must make a purchase if we stop and use the restroom at a gas station or it just feels weird.)

Upon arriving in the parking lot, I pulled slowly into the handicap ♿️ parking space, turned the engine off, got out of the driver’s side of the pickup, and walked around to where my husband was already walking toward the entrance into the mini market of the gas station. I slipped my right arm into his left arm to walk with him and give him support as he walked, since he decided not to use his walker for assistance.

My husband used to stand two inches taller than my six-foot height. He now walks with his back bent over and his knees bent, so he appears much shorter than I. It is with some difficulty that I hold his arm in mine while we walk together due to that awkward height difference.

A kind, thoughtful person opened the glass door for my husband and me to easily enter the gas station “snack box” as we refer to it. We smiled gratefully and thanked them for their kindness. Moving past the check-out counter with my husband, I noticed there were fountain drinks in the back corner and thought my husband would like one of those on our way back to the pickup.

As we reached the long wide hallway leading to the bathrooms, I noted the women’s restroom on the right and saw that the men’s restroom was at the end of the hallway on the left. As we passed the women’s restroom, I could feel my husband start to pick up speed. Then I realized he was leaning forward as he picked up speed. My grip on his arm tightened as I leaned farther forward. Suddenly, I left my body. (OK, not really, but I had a moment where I lost control of my body and it felt like it was moving without me controlling the movements.) The next thing I knew I was racing forward and becoming more bent over myself. Then SPLAT! Our phones and glasses went sliding way out in front of us. I could not believe HOW HARD the landing was! I just lay there for what seemed like a quarter of a second, then turned to see if my husband was ok.

Now, keep in mind that he is turning 65 next month, and I am in my late 50’s. And, here we are, sprawled out on the ground like a couple of kids who were running too fast and fell down on purpose. Only, we had further to fall, and it was definitely not part of our plan!

Did I mention I am tall? And overweight? My husband is a “C” shape when he walks. On the floor, though, he and I were both more of an “S” or a “Z” shape scrambling to get up as fast as our newly bruised and pained bodies would get up. Luckily (?) no one was there to see us. Or help us. Or cry out in sympathy for the two old people who had just fallen HARD to the ground on their already painfully aging knees. I got up fairly quickly and walked over to pick up the phones and glasses. Then I helped my husband stand up and limp to the restroom holding the wall as he walked.

As I turned back and headed to the women’s restroom, the thought kept coming to my mind, “It’s true, you know. The taller they are, the harder they fall!” It seemed that every muscle in my body was quivering from tensing up during the fall. The bruises were already showing up on my left knee. I decided then and there that I would not be able to be my husband’s walking assistant. He would need to rely on his walker or his wheelchair.

His response was, “Well, if you are ever helping me again, and I start to fall, just let me fall. I am used to it, and I’m getting really good at it.”

Excuse me while I go get the ice pack for my left knee….