6 things I learnt from face-planting my way into a concussion, fractured elbow & one epic shiner

I didn’t plan on spending the week concussed, fractured, and looking like a bruised cartoon character in a sling... but life had other ideas. So when uneven pavements and wide-leg pants give you lemons, you turn them into a cascading fountain of lemonade flavoured life lessons (typed out with one hand).

1. Strangers are very good at pretending you don’t look like a walking bruise

The way people kept their eyes firmly on my good eye was honestly impressive.
Ten points to everyone who showed incredible restraint – deadpanning at my non-bruised side while pretending the other one didn’t look like a scene from Fight Club.

I ordered a skim chai, made a joke about needing extra calcium, waved my fractured elbow around like a broken windscreen wiper… and the barista didn’t blink.

She literally held her breath and maintained laser-focused, non-bruised-eye contact. 
Ten out of ten commitment to pretending everything was normal.
Bless her. Especially when it was a shocking, swollen, egg-lump of a shiner. Though honestly, I think I needed concern more than composure at the time.

2. Unless you’re a child, where injuries become mesmerising

Cheers to the little boy who full-on swung himself out the side of his pram to stare at me longer, mouth wide open, as his mum speed-walked him away in embarrassment.

A little girl at the café clocked me seven times in under a minute, each stare more fascinated than the last.
And honestly? Fair enough. Deep purple swollen black eyes do not feature on The Wiggles or Play School, so for many kids this was a thrilling new discovery. The egg lump on my eye socket was so big, perhaps she thought the Easter Bunny had paid a visit.

In fairness, the combo of black eye, dazed concussion, and sling was pretty novel for most adults I encountered, too.

Meanwhile, my toddler Lark was deeply offended that Mama had two bandaids and she only had one.
Children do not do injustice lightly.
Nor social smoothness.
Or subtlety.

3. Anime injuries are suprisingly realistic

It turns out those ridiculous anime falls – the sudden trip, the face-first landing, the dramatic THWACK, the dazed stars, the perfect circular shiner, and an arm in a sling – are wildly accurate.

One uneven Sydney pavement tile, and suddenly I was starring in the unlicensed live-action reboot of every Sailor Moon falling-over scene.
I swear I even heard that sound effect.
I definitely saw stars.

4. A surprising number of people checked whether my partner was the DV type

The ambo, two nurses, family, friends, colleagues… even an elderly gentleman, a little rough around the edges, yelled, “I hope you punched him back!” as we passed on the street.

All with that familiar Aussie larrikin humour, masking a very real concern underneath.

“Are you sure we don’t need to call the DV shelter on the pavement?”

Everyone wanted to make sure my injuries didn’t come from home.
My partner RaRa – who wasn’t even there when I was publicly betrayed by the pavement–fashion combo – didn’t want to show people the photos because even he thought it looked like DV.

At the time, concussed and foggy, I just laughed along.
But later, it occurred to me: I know too many women – and men – who’ve lived through terrifying partner violence.

Of course, people asked.
I’m glad they did. It means we are willing to have uncomfortable but important conversations.

Truth be told, I’m not sure I would believe the whole “tripped over the pavement” story either – especially given how much time I’ve quietly taken off for “secret” IVF treatment.

And it made me grateful, again, that my partner is the safest, goodest human I know.

5. I’m lucky I didn’t break the other elbow trying to shower with a cast

Dry shampoo sent my air purifier into hyperdrive, and my internal asthma filter was clocking the magical powder faster than freshly cracked pepper up the nostrils. And since the internet frowned upon “visiting a salon while concussed,” I was stuck rocking the greasy sea-urchin aesthetic while I figured out my hair situation.

For one brief moment, I considered six weeks of baby-wipe bathing like a feral minimalist. But even I have standards. And it’s already hard enough to convince people to visit me in Sydney.

As for actual showering:
I MacGyvered a waterproof cast cover out of a fruit bag, a plastic supermarket bag, a scrunchie, and a fluffy pink headband. I know you can buy proper waterproof covers from larger pharmacy chains… but fractured elbows can’t drive, and BO (body odour) does not wait for Australia Post.

Every shower is a slippery, squeaky battle performed solo in my bathroom.
Would not recommend.

I left it a whole week before ignoring the internet and visiting a new salon near my house. Now that was delightfully awkward. The stylist took one look at me and said, “It looks like your partner did it.”

6. Brain fog is real and long-lasting

When my head hit the pavement, bounced, and hit again, it felt like my brain ricocheted around inside my skull. Triple vision. Nausea. The overwhelming urge to lie down on the footpath and sleep.

Over the next few days, my senses went into overdrive.
I could hear the ocean in our landlocked inner-city courtyard.
I could smell sewage, no one else could smell, in the shower.
And if I looked at a screen for more than 30 minutes, I needed a two-hour nap.

Podcasts and audiobooks – the kind spoken by soft, buttery, philosophical voices – became the only concussion-friendly content.
Listened to in a dark bedroom, eyes closed.
No snarky cohosts. No critical vibes.
Just gentle, warm, wholesome sound for a concussed brain trying to reboot itself back online.

A tiny closing shower thought

Life happens. Bruises fade. Bones heal.

The tapestry of life is messy, and I’m a big believer that if you don’t laugh, you cry. So here we are, finding the humour in a rather unfortunate accident.

For now, I’ve thrown away every pair of wide-leg pants, and I’m taking it one kid-stare (at the hell of a shiner) at a time.