The High Crankies

 I keep having dreams where I’m stumbling through large scale construction sites. Old buildings are being torn down, rubble is everywhere, new buildings are being raised. It’s a full on dangerous mess and there I am trying to get across the scene without being killed by falling girders or collapsing bits of architecture. Stressful!

It finally came to me, this is about my ongoing, seemingly never-ending, rehabbing—learning to walk again and attempting to improve and expand my balance and strength. Yeah DUH—no kidding, Donna.

Yesterday was another physical therapy fail day. My goal at the outset was to transition from walker to cane (and from there, I want to move on to supportless walking). The therapist is not exactly encouraging. Yesterday she told me that I will have to work much, much harder to achieve this—she’s unimpressed with my minimal progress so far.

Great, just lovely. Yep, I’m just a totally lazy slacker who doesn’t understand the concept, the mechanics of recovery. Ummm, no. I actually do get it and grok that I’ve gotta make a more intense effort. I’m also way tired. Learning how to walk again and then trying to do that without support is a bit more challenging than a game of jacks or floating in a placid pool.

Also, I’m wicked pissed that these new, seemingly nothing burger balance exercises are enervating the fuck outta me. After yesterday’s short morning seawall walk and an early PT session, I HAD to nap. It doesn’t help (just ups my stress levels) that my physical therapist apparently thinks I’m a goldbricker and that walking with a cane is forever destined to be beyond my abilities.

Okay, I’m probably exaggerating here. Yesterday’s session (as well as last Thursday’s) was disappointing and I’m pissed off. Anger, in this case, is useful—it spurs me on. Basically, no one tells ME what I can and can’t accomplish! I will so walk without support again!

Part of me wonders, why bother? This is hard fucking work and for what? I’m in my mid-60s and, if I’m exceptionally lucky, I have about ten years left. Why put in all the devastatingly challenging work when, after my next surgery, I’ll likely be in a wheelchair again.

Why? I’ll tell you why—my life/my choice and I want to walk! And I will too. Goddammit. Yeah, I’m cranky as fuck today. Be sure to send kind, supportive qi to Ten, Jen and Oni.