Broken concentration

Over the past five weeks, time has turned into something like Christmastide, or the summer holidays -- it's moving at a slower pace, yet is way too eventful, despite our state of modified house arrest, where we wash our hands until our knuckles feel like sandpaper, and wipe down switches and devices with rubbing alcohol.

One recent evening, I was getting ready for bed, a ritual consisting of several careful steps, as I divest myself of the day, and set up things I must remember for successfully launching myself into the coming day. This particular evening, this meant setting my FitBit to charge on the computer out in the living room, in preparation for putting it back on my wrist, where it professes to keep track of how well I've slept. I have my doubts about its accuracy, but this isn't the point. The point is, my FitBit vibrates when I have an incoming call or text message; it even tells me who is trying to contact me, if they're among my phone contacts.

My phone, as it happens, was also charging, lying on my bed after one of its "wink-outs". This is something that it started doing a few months ago, I can only conjecture that this is because I've had it for nearly four years, which makes it, in terms of devices, a dinosaur. After winking out, the phone takes about 30 seconds to load back up again, so I set about removing my eye makeup, shoes, and top.

I had just finished brushing my teeth when the landline rang. An 800 number. At 10:30 pm. The nerve.

It was Lifeline, Demeter's emergency service, which detects any movement by Demeter that could be interpreted as a fall. At the same moment, my revived cell phone rang. It was Double Leo Sister, calling from her home 500 miles away. She doesn't call unless it's an emergency; Lifeline must have reached her first when I failed to answer my momentarily disabled cell phone, being unaware of any calls because my Fitbit was charging in another room. I hastily explained that Lifeline was on the landline, and that I'd get back to her, once I'd checked on Demeter. Lifeline was telling me that my mother had fallen, and I told them I could be there in two minutes.

I shoved my bare feet back into my shoes and retrieved my top from the laundry basket. Grabbing both my keys and Demeter's keys, I barrelled into the living to get my coat, as I gave the Resident Fan Boy a quick rundown. He followed behind at some distance as I fled up the dark and deserted street, a dog in some empty house barking at my shadow.

The Resident Fan Boy caught up with me as I pounded the entry code into the front door keyboard at Demeter's condominium building. I told him the stairs would be quicker, and I rushed left, as he turned right to take the elevator anyway. He arrived at Demeter's apartment several minutes after I did.

Demeter was bruised and shaky in her slip. Being a retired physio, she'd managed to regain her feet, and answer Lifeline to forestall an ambulance.

Apparently, her legs had mysteriously given away, and she had folded to the ground. Most of the impact had been taken by her right knee, shoulder, and temple. Her clothes were strewn where she'd fallen, and we improvised an ice pack of frozen perogies, which we applied to her forehead with a damp dishtowel, as she protested gently.

We stayed until she was safely tucked into bed, folding her clothes, and turning off the lights, before retreating back up the block, as I slowed my breathing.

I discovered that in my haste, I'd left my phone on the bed. It promptly winked out once more, as a long parade of texts from my sister came through.

It took a while for sleep to come.

The next morning, Demeter's brow was unbruised, and she was only slightly sore. It didn't occur to me until later, that I had spent the previous afternoon taking the laundry to the laundry with younger daughter, demonstrating how to carefully wipe door handles and elevator buttons on the way, then washing our hands carefully afterwards.

All such precautions flew out of the window when I flew out of the house.

Demeter seems fine.