Why get up?

A bad night that consisted of restless body syndrome -- really, it was like all my muscles needed to move -- merged into a bad morning with blood on the floor and two hard knocks on the head Dad could hear outside the bathroom.

One of the stupid front castors on my stupid wheelchair does not like to roll over rugs. I have a new one on order, but it's not here yet. Anyway, the rug in front of the shower kept bunching up, and I kept rolling back and forth to try to get it smoother out enough so I could use it to get in the shower.

I think what happened is that on one of the runs forth I hit the door, pinching toe parts and lurched forward so I was leaning against the door. But the run back was a little too fast, and my head was still leaning against the door. But the chair moved away.

I collapsed, smacking my head on the door, then again on the floor. My toes also got good and bloodied as they slid around on the floor and under the chair.

Dad came to my aid, helping me back into my chair. Then he fixed the rug and I got in the shower.

I was prepared to get up myself and could have, no doubt in my mind. But I'd have rather stayed in bed. And I wish I could have gotten back into bed and called in sick, but crap happens so often and that would feel like giving up or giving in.