Monday, May 7, 2012

tell me a story

I had to have mine redone after I biked to the end of Eklutna Lake. Then I didn't ride for another year.
It's not 100 percent; I get clicks I didn't used to get.
The doctor said "trust me" then moved my arm and it hurt so much, he told me to relax but I couldn't because it hurt!
I didn't like the PT. He moved my arm but he didn't tell me first so I could have prepared and breathed. So I changed PTs but maybe she wasn't the best.
She retore hers going down the stairs with something in her hand so she wasn't using the handrail.
She slipped on the ice.
He crashed while skiing.
She had three months off work to rehab it and was lifting weights by the end.
I'm 100 percent!
I can do everything I did before.
Now, I do strengthening exercises.
Stronger than ever!
Full range of motion!
Yours wasn't as bad as mine. You'll be fine.

A month and a day out and I continue to improve. And listen to stories. Hope for a good outcome. I go for walks in the neighborhood or at one of the parks that has a paved path that's new enough to not have cracks from frost heaves and years of use. Not every day, but a few times a week.

I do my physical therapy. Three times a day. I have some restless nights that lead to tired days.
I get rides from friends to PT, other errands. Appreciate them taking the time; offering encouragement; promise to be a better friend to the next person who goes through this.

I watch my neighbors clear their yards of the winter's debris: gravel and twigs, long-buried toys. I look at my brown lawn and wish for a clean-up crew. I avoid doing one-handed labor for fear of tripping over a rock or a low spot in the yard, both of which there are many. Because at each stage of the PT I tell myself "I don't want to go through this again." It's a slow road, but we never grasp just how slow until we're on it, do we?

I continue to write my fiction in longhand; am not even attempting the one-handed typing transcription; just plug away; moving along: scrawl, scrawl. One month until the writers' conference. I read books, long magazine articles. Think about hiking because sometimes thinking about biking just gets me down. Ah!, the way four miles disappears under bike tires, while under foot the distance seems too daunting for me. Even after a winter on foot.

Today, the birds are singing, the buds on our birches are about to burst open. And, today, they're going to take my icing machine away. This is how I measure this spring's progress.

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