slip

An hour ago, I almost cracked my head open. Yes, by accident.

I turned off the shower and started to walk out when I slipped, my feet flying up behind me. My face headed straight for the hard tile floor at an alarming speed. In the split second before collision, I managed to brace myself slightly, extending my forearm out just enough to take some of the impact. Thankfully.

My arm slammed into the floor, as did the side of my chin and, somehow, my ankle. As I lay there on the cold wet tile, surrounded by the little beard hairs I had shaved off pre-shower, I took inventory. My much-knocked-out (and now totally fake) front tooth was still intact. My chin was sore but still all together. And the only trace of spilt blood was congealing gently around the nail of my right big toe.

In five seconds I went from a fine mood to sudden terror to great relief. Because this is no place to get yourself injured. Another American had told me how his friend had dislocated his shoulder here, and about the bloodstains he saw on the hospital wall. And I knew that if you had major tooth problems, the most common fix would be pulling the tooth, often by dentists who do it out on the street.

As I stood back up, I took a deep, contemplative breath, very thankful that I barely avoided serious injury, that I braced my fall just enough. Because this is not a place to get hurt.