A Lesson in Ladder Safety
As a child, I remember the moment my father fell through the ceiling of our home while climbing into the roof cavity. I ran into the room to find his legs dangling from the ceiling, and for what felt like an eternity, I screamed, unsure if the rest of him was still attached. Miraculously, he emerged unscathed.
Years later, he fell off a ladder while cleaning the gutter. He returned to the house, dazed and confused, with a leaf in his hair, but again, he was unharmed—though more chastened this time.
It’s not uncommon for older men to take risks that lead to falls. I’ve known several middle-aged men who have fallen from heights, some sustaining serious injuries. This made me wonder why older men seem to ignore the dangers. Do they believe they’re immortal? Do they forget they’ve aged? Or do they only realize the danger once they’re already falling?
Well, I may now have some answers.
Recently, I decided to clean my windows after noticing they were covered in dirt and debris. “I can pressure-hose them!” I thought, excitedly. My partner had recently gifted me a high-power hose, and I had discovered how enjoyable it is to clean things with jets of water. I had already cleaned my courtyard, balcony, and car, but somehow, I hadn’t tackled the windows.
I hauled out the machine and an extension cord, put on an old T-shirt and flip-flops, went outside, and turned on the power. Nothing happened because I’d forgotten to turn on the water. After attaching the machine to the tap and trying again, it worked. For about 20 minutes, I enjoyed blasting water at the windows, feeling energized and accomplished.
However, there were stubborn cobwebs around the window frames that wouldn’t budge. No problem, I thought. I grabbed a stepladder and climbed up, beginning to hose from the top step. If anyone had been filming, they would have yelled at the screen: “Are you insane? You’re middle-aged! What are you doing up there? Do you want to fall?”
Unfortunately, I was alone and naive. I knew men fell off ladders, but since I’m a woman, I assumed it didn’t apply to me. Plus, I wasn’t on an actual ladder—I was on a step ladder, which I believed was entirely different.
The ladder, however, didn’t get the memo. What happened next was inevitable, though it felt surprising at the time: I slipped and fell.
I remember losing my balance and feeling momentarily weightless. Oh no, I thought. I am in the air! Then I was yelling, gliding, sliding on the wet ground, and finally lying still.
How did that happen? I wondered. I’m not a middle-aged man!
Happily, I wasn’t seriously hurt. My left hand was grazed, and blood dripped down my right arm, but these were just minor wounds. I groaned, stood up, and noticed my toe was bleeding. It was rapidly turning purple, but it wasn’t sore—probably because it was completely numb.
I bent down to examine it, only to shriek from the searing pain in my right side. The toe would have to wait.
I hobbled inside and leaned against a chair. This, I imagined, was what a man would feel if he foolishly fell off a ladder.
“Mum!” my daughter exclaimed. “Are you OK? What happened?”
“I fell off the stepladder,” I told her. “Can you get me some ice?”
“Oh dear,” she said, then brightened. “Didn’t Papa fall off a ladder? Now you have something in common.”
I called my partner, who I knew would be supportive. “What on earth were you doing up a ladder?” he asked. “Did you think you were a middle-aged man?”
“It was a stepladder,” I protested. Why did everyone blame the victim?
I spoke to my mum, my friends, and my other two children. They were all sympathetic, but mostly outraged. “What were you thinking?” they all cried. “Why were you climbing a ladder? Did you not realise the risks? Did you forget your age?”
The shoe was on the other foot—then off the foot, and off the ladder.
