Lessons rung up from a spill off the ladder

The other day, I fell off a ladder. More precisely, a ladder I propped up on a snow-slicked deck so I could clean out eavestroughs, slipped out from under me, dropping me seven or eight feet.

As a neighbour asked me later, “I’ve often wondered what people think as they fall off a ladder?” I now know, but wish I didn’t. I distinctly remember the ladder sliding out from under me, giving me enough time to say to myself, “This is gonna hurt.”

Without being overly dramatic, I was very lucky. The wind was knocked out of me and I was left with a deeply bruised or hairline fracture of the clavicle, a sprained finger, swollen elbows and ankles and a dark purple bruise the shape (and almost the size) of Italy running from my hip all the way down my thigh.