How to fall down a flight of stairs and liveBy Lee

An amazing thing happens to the human body when you throw it down a flight of stairs.

First up, it’s important to remember a key point: human thought, electric impulses firing in arcane arcs down elaborate neural pathways indecipherable to pretty much everyone on the planet, is faster than you can imagine. In the fraction of a second between the fearful realisation that you are in fact falling and going over completely, a multitude of possibilities are evaluated, outcomes weighed and likely discarded, contributing to the phenomenon of “time slowing down.” Obviously time doesn’t slow down, time is a constant, it’s just that, in that rarest of moments when primordial instinct takes over and you’re no longer in the bosom of the 21st century with its iPods and hybrid cars, survival mode kicks in, bombarding your brain with so much information that the external world is broken down into isolated facets. Snippets capable of being viewed piece-meal.

The analogy with slow-motion in film is actually quite appropriate. The movie effect is accomplished by capturing more than 24 frames per second (usually by a factor) and running this through the camera at normal speed. Because there is more information at hand, the scene takes longer to spin through and appears delayed; slower than normal while, in fact, you’re just viewing more of the same. More than you need. The same thing happens in a near death experience. In order to survive, your brain opens itself up to all stimuli and hopes that, somewhere drenched in the fear and will to self-preserve, you latch on to something useful to keep your sorry ass alive. Like a banister perhaps.

But I was talking about falling down some stairs. I don’t recall exactly how or why my ankle went under me in Vancouver as I trundled down the helical steps of the St. Clair hostel, but I’m sure it was my fault. I was tired – obviously – but I was also carrying my you-know-how-much-it-weighs-by-now backpack on one shoulder instead of the trusty two while one hand clutched my jacket and the other held my day-bag. A smaller version and similarly branded little cousin to the larger back-wielding version, this bag also contains over a thousand euro worth of electronics. I was descending the stairs in the most stupid way possible in other words.

The ankle buckled and the sensation of falling was quickly replaced with the knowledge that, considering I had no hand free, I could either save my pricey wares or myself. As I slip into the aforementioned hyper-sensitive mode and go head-first down the stairs, I feel the weight on my back shift ominously forward, unbalancing me beyond rectification and catapulting my descent even faster. Within a fraction of a second I leave the safety of my personal fulcrum point, spit in the face of gravity and I’m horizontal, the surface below pitching unfavourably downward and punctuated by hard steps. At some point during this ungraceful descent I manage to lay (basically not toss) my day-bag on a nearby step and save every single gadget I’ve carried half-way across the world. I’m not so lucky with the left-hand side of my body, however, but such was the price of the decision I made during that miniscule amount of time offered. I suppose at some point during this micro-period I weighed all the axioms and deducted that broken legs mend. Laptops do not.

Gravity wins and my thigh slams into one of the stairs painfully but, just as the world is scrolling to a near stop, another fascinating phenomenon occurs. Like a switch thrown, my hormonal network floods my system with more chemicals than a junkie on New Year’s. I’m aware of impact but the pain doesn’t register. Obviously I know there will be pain; you don’t crash into a flight of stairs with a heavy backpack assisting with the power-slam without a visit from the pain fairy, but right now the adrenaline is thankfully masking it; delayed pain management keeping it at bay just beyond perception until I manage to correct the fact that I’m now facing downwards on a flight of stairs, somehow having managed to grasp a banister pole with my soon-to-be-the-colour-of-ripe-banana left arm while my backpack diligently tries to drag me further onwards.

I call for Sheila and, somehow, she manages to pass me and fumble my upended mass back to my feet all the while still carrying her backpack and other assorted items, undoubtedly assisted by some adrenaline of her own. After ten seconds of deep breathing and the tentative checking for breakages to various limbs that smashed against the stairwell (I’m somewhat blessed in this regard and everything seems intact), I grimace my way out of the hostel and towards Vancouver airport. During this time the adrenaline, having completed its job and now no longer pumped through my system, abates, the slow dull ache of muscles and flesh hammered replacing its super-charged flow.

Under the harsh glare of Vancouver International’s toilet-lights my left arm is blossoming into a beautiful shade of putrid yellow; hidden among the hair like an emerging map of uncharted soreness. My left thigh, however, takes the biscuit and has managed to skip the nascent bruising phase altogether and goes straight to the colour of dark purple. There’s even some broken blood vessels beneath the skin’s surface for good measure, burst from the impact of slamming into the stair step full force. My lower left leg isn’t much better and sports a patchwork of secret tender spots up and down my shin and calf that I’ll enjoy discovering over the following days. It’s all very painful but I can’t help but feel grateful that I got off so lightly after launching myself head-first down a staircase.

There’s a lesson here, and though it might be one of simple baggage management (there are two straps on a backpack for a reason, dumbass), I think it’s more about just how resilient and effective the human body is. One month later and the rainbow of discolouration up and down my left side has vanished with no tenderness to speak of. That said, I don’t see this as an invitation to toss myself down more stairs in the future.

Tags: accident, Trip, Vancouver