Sometimes having a vast imagination is a curse

I’m getting used to being a bit more mobile. Okay, compared to a year and eight months ago, post ambulation stealing brain surgery, my ability to get around is MEGA PLUS improved. Back then, I needed the wheelchair or, at least, the walker and spotters just to get from bed to can. I rarely went downstairs and when I did I had to use the chairlift. One year ago—fresh out of spine surgery and still needing the wheelchair—I was totally getting going with the walker.

Now—one year on? Though I use the rollator/walker for my outdoor excursions, my plain walker has become nothing but a clothes rack. Ten installed a ton of grab bars upstairs so, I can use those when I feel wobbly. I’ve been climbing and descending the stairs on my own for a few months now too. Wheelchairs? Nope—don't need it anymore.

Over just the last seven days, I've walked (mostly with the rollator) half a mile on three days and a full mile on three other days. I took one day off. Progress, rehabilitation, is happening.

The fear of falling remains strong. My over the top imagination conjures visions of me tripping and toppling down the steps or losing my balance and tumbling over the seawall onto the sharp boulders below. I see all my bones breaking, my bean cracking open like an overripe melon, ambulance rides to MGH and a return to being bedridden.

Possibly these horror show mirages are helpful versus scourge? They flash across my internal view screen and I slow down, reset my balance and focus more. I’m reminded to not rush and be mindful of each step. I release the tension in my shoulders and fix my eyes on the ground six feet+ in front of me. The key, the goal is to jettison the scary images but keep the carefulness, the slower pace, solidly in mind and action. I never envisioned I’d be in such a state where I need to exquisitely concentrate on every step I take.

At this point, I can walk half a mile in one go and that's GIANT. Also exhausting—the intense focus as well as the walking itself does it. On days when I do a full mile, the second half is done in two segments. Strength grows slowly.

One new bit—I’ve stopped using the rollator when I go over to Jen and Oni’s for teatime. I’m not always completely stable but with Ten or Jen lightly holding my hand I’m able to make the short trip without a disaster.

Today, once the rain stops, I’ll do just a half mile. While I have good days and less than stellar ones, the more I put one foot in front of the other, the better—more comfortable—I become. One of these days I’ll be able to stroll up to the mailbox or down to the seawall at dawn without assistance.