I woke up several times before the alarm, and finally dragged myself to the bathroom about five minutes early. I completed the sink-based ablutions with the usual amount of difficulty — a rather sharp departure from vertical — and made for the shower. In my current state of disrepair, I have adopted a procedure: grab one of the two bars retrofitted to the toilet, swing one leg over, grab the windowsill and swing the other leg over.
Not today. I got halfway up and came down hard on the side of the tub. Okay, fine: both those bars are within reach, I’ll just pull myself up. Also not today. I could get a decently firm grip on those bars, but I could not lift myself to standing position, no matter how much I pulled. Finally, with one last tug, I sank to the floor, to the accompaniment of the dreaded Spew Noise that told me I’d just broken the toilet.
Naked and wet, I crawled the entire length of the hallway, about 25 feet, to get to my cell phone, and summoned 911. The EMTs couldn’t haul me up to vertical for more than fractions of a second, and finally I was shipped off to the emergency room, muttering things about “So this is my last ride” and other Darryl Downer quotes.
ER found only one thing that could have caused this: excess fluid buildup in the legs. So they shot me up with 40 mg of Lasix, waited while I passed a couple of gallons of fluid in a mere two and a half hours, and then sent me home. I could stand, though not especially well.
Extra Special Downside: There is more fluid to pass, and, of course, the toilet is broken. The usual plumber has been called.