headache. i mean head pain. note to self: #1. you are no superman. #2. when you fall, do not use head to break fall, especially on concrete.
Thus said my twitter after my fall yesterday.
In case someone out there is concerned, yes, I’m okay enough to blog as you can see. But I suppose the necessary lack of detail in my twitter post made the incident open to the imagination.
Like in this conversation:
Friend: *pokes*
Friend: fell down ah?Me: shuddup
Me: don’t poke my head
Me: got baluku(A baluku is that lump you get on your head when you hit it hard on a hard surface.)
Friend: heh heh
Friend: poor boy
Friend: walk properly next time lah
Another one:
[complaining about my pains]
Me: anyway this time is badder than usual
Me: cos i got baluku on my headFriend: hahaha see lah
Friend: who ask u to peep at girls
For the record, I got the baluku because of a fall while playing basketball.
You may find it weird, but I found the fall particularly interesting.
Not so much because for the past few weeks since I started playing with this bunch, there had been a game-stopping injury every week - someone got his adam’s apple jabbed hard (he couldn’t talk for 2 days after that), another guy got a headbutt to his mouth (so his lips naturally bled) - and for all those injuries I was actually the (accidental) injurer, while this time I was finally the injured…
It happened like this-
The opposing team had possession of the ball. One of them threw the ball to somewhat behind me to pass to his teammate. I expected the pass, so I was fast enough to be able to steal the ball if I dived for it. So I did.
Everything seemed to go slow motion from then.
As I was near-horizontal in the air and about to reach the ball, I noticed that the opponent who was meant to receive the ball also decided make a dash for the ball. And he was under me.
If you’ve played basketball and you’re one who likes to jump, you’d probably be cringing now. Having someone under you while you’re up in the air is bad news. Very bad news.
So the bump eventually came - the light bump when our bodies made contact. And all it takes is a light bump when you’re in the air to knock you completely off-balance - exactly what happened to me.
So there I braced myself as my horizontal body facing up fell down to earth. I landed on my feet first to regain whatever control I could, but that isn’t too helpful when the rest of your body is horizontal and already about to slam onto the concrete.
My butt touched the ground next, but I didn’t want to hurt my tailbone so I let myself roll backwards. But because I went down so fast, the backward roll went too fast - the only part of the fall that wasn’t in slow motion. I rolled straight back, only to have the roll get stopped when I hit my head against the concrete. With a rather loud thud.
By then my legs were high up in the air (I was rolling backwards, remember?) and my torso was near-vertical, so those had to come down. By then the fall was already over and all I was thinking about was is my brain still functioning okay?
By then a concerned crowd was beginning to form - some of them were carefully observing to see if I showed any signs of abnormality (beyond my usual abnormalities), others were asking if I’m alright.
Good I can understand language, I thought as I waved them off so they wouldn’t come too near.
I slowly sat up, clutching and rubbing the back of my head. I wonder if I can still speak. Well, I can still form English sentences in my head, but can I speak?
I’m certain I was subconsciously thinking about what happened to Jill Taylor, a brain scientist who, when she had a stroke, could only make unintelligible noises when she tried to speak. (Check out her fascinating talk on TED)
What better way to find out if I can speak, than by actually speaking? I decided to tell everyone “I’m fine!”, but just before I said it, I decided against it. What if it turns out that I can’t speak, and I start making unintelligible noises? That would make everyone panic!
So quietly and slowly, I got to my feet. Vision is still clear. I seem to be thinking straight. I can recognise faces. I seem ok.
“Ok,” I said tentatively. A perfectly-formed “ok” came out of my mouth. Which means I still can speak. I’m OK! “I’m OK!” I declared, while my hand rubbed the back of the head. “Let’s play on! Whose ball is it?”
* * *
Colophone - I was rubbing the back of my head a lot as I wrote this post.
