I brought in the New Year on the floor, my drab grey hospital scrubs soaking up cold water giving me the chill of realization that I had fallen, actually slipped on a slick pool of water, and landed in a heap between the med room and the nurses station, my water bottle spinning across the floor with my dignity. Of late my body has been sending me messages that things are not what they once were; my knees don’t bounce, sciatica has become a nocturnal enemy and my right rotator cuff has a particularly angry voice when I do simple common tasks like dry my hair or reach to open the blind or reach for anything for that matter. I laid on the cold floor in that puddle and spent a few seconds soaking up some self pity along with the dirty wash water childishly ticking through the list of injustices starting with having to work all the holidays this year and not being born rich. I let a tear or two squeeze out of my clenched shut eyelids and then gradually became aware of the spectacle I was creating and of my lovely colleagues trying to convince me to get up off the floor.

I’m fine.

I have bruises; they will fade.

Like Peter says” Be grateful for what you don’t have”. This New Years Day I did not get a broken hip. I think it’s going to be a good year.