Touching the hot stove

After four months of near paralysis, I foolishly tried to walk to the bathroom at 3 a.m. and tripped on the way back to bed. No pain whatsoever, a “soft tumble,” not a crash. Shamefully, though, we had to call 911 to get me up again into my bed.

I was sobered, trembling. Moreover, Linda, my caregiver, and my PT stood over me tag-team and chewed me out interminably for “How could you be so stupid?” and “Do you know what you could have done to yourself?”

Of course, I knew I had put myself into mortal jeopardy. But male ego and narcissism gave way to the cocky certainty that I could — to whom? — show my capacity for beating the odds.