Progress should be good, right? But it doesn't always seem so. Strangely, some of my milestones seem to accentuate my (temporary) disabilities rather than diminish them. They make me weep rather than smile. I'm 98 days on and yesterday I managed, with my crutches, to get myself to the local Co-op to buy a paper. This trip - in total perhaps 500 metres, used to take me 10 minutes. Yesterday it took around 50. And I was shattered, hot and cross when I got home. There is nowhere to sit down on the way up Bath Street. There is nowhere to sit down in the shop itself. In the queue, no one allowed me to go forward, even though I was clearly edgy. Of course they might have thought it was patronising to offer to help - and I could have asked. Instead of celebrating the success I noted the effort, the time, and the little old ladies passing me on the inside lane...
On my return I met my neighbour's brother - who must be in his 70s at least. He is mobile but slow. He asked me to let him know if I needed anything done in my flat. Very kind - but dreadful in some way. An old man who helps out his older housebound sister in our stair every day offering to help me. Another neighbour offered me her phone number when she met me downstairs - so that I didn't need to struggle to the shop. I must have looked rough. I declined gracefully.
A few days ago I had my first bath since November. Designed to be warm and relaxing it was initially stressful. I took my phone in case I got stuck. But once I was in it was fine. And it struck me that I should have tried a couple of weeks ago. Why didn't I? Its all about confidence - and testing. But once the habits are formed around a physical constraint they are difficult to break. Testing my recovery is a tricky call - there's so much at stake. If I get it wrong I will suffer. Too far from home and I cant make the return trip. Too much stress on my right knee and the pain comes later. Knocking out a pain killer carries the burden of not knowing the impact until its too late.
My body is healing but each day I feel slightly more deranged. And even though I am assured this is normal, its terribly hard to get up each day and take it on.
On my return I met my neighbour's brother - who must be in his 70s at least. He is mobile but slow. He asked me to let him know if I needed anything done in my flat. Very kind - but dreadful in some way. An old man who helps out his older housebound sister in our stair every day offering to help me. Another neighbour offered me her phone number when she met me downstairs - so that I didn't need to struggle to the shop. I must have looked rough. I declined gracefully.
A few days ago I had my first bath since November. Designed to be warm and relaxing it was initially stressful. I took my phone in case I got stuck. But once I was in it was fine. And it struck me that I should have tried a couple of weeks ago. Why didn't I? Its all about confidence - and testing. But once the habits are formed around a physical constraint they are difficult to break. Testing my recovery is a tricky call - there's so much at stake. If I get it wrong I will suffer. Too far from home and I cant make the return trip. Too much stress on my right knee and the pain comes later. Knocking out a pain killer carries the burden of not knowing the impact until its too late.
My body is healing but each day I feel slightly more deranged. And even though I am assured this is normal, its terribly hard to get up each day and take it on.
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