Now, here's a gift that I'm very grateful to have been given. By whom, I'm not sure, but I'm glad I got it...
Last night, and this morning, my large-air-quotes "walking" was different. Worse, maybe, than it often has been.
My large-air-quotes "walking" is definitely a "moving target." It's constantly different. One day better, one day worse. And here's the gift: that's how I perceive it.
"Different."
I don't "go down the rabbit hole," as they'd say in The Matrix, descending into darkness and panic about "Oh crap, it's getting (shudder) worse? Is my walking coming to an end? Are these the (forgive the metaphor) first steps to never walking again?" I also don't go down the rabbit hole of false hopes, the days that the walking gets better--which does actually happen, every once and a while--thinking that "The recovery I've heard about, that I've promised myself is oh-so-true, it's here!" Only to be disappointed the next day when the pendulum swings the other direction (but, with luck, doesn't knock me over).
No... I think "Well, that's different."
And that's just about it.
Now, I must confess, I'm very paranoid about things like "making plans" and answering questions about "Do you think you'll be able to do xyz?" There's a thin line between prudence, terror, and denial. Actually, when you see the line, and cop to its truth, you can see it get much thicker, see its true thickness; but there really are times when terror and prudence overlap.
At least, I console myself to think so... I'm sure there's a line there, too; but I don't see it yet.
But, for the moment, I'm grateful to not freak out at small-difference-after-small-difference changes to my large-air-quotes "walking." It's not "denial," a very dark place that I'm way too familiar with. It's just... well, it's different. Today. Sometimes it sucks and is different, sometimes it's better and is different. But first and foremost... it's just: different.
Besides... Things going as they're going, continuing being able to describe my "walking" as "large-air-quotes walking" means that I actually am able to air-quotes-walk.
Which means I don't need a walker in my house. I'm still able to go up and down the steps into and out of the house (how fast doesn't matter... that I can, does). I can still get into and out of cars, and chairs of all kinds (including toilet seats), pretty much under my own power. All those things take a while to do, they're not always easy, I too often very-nearly-collapse when I'm doing them (which is definitely scary when it happens over blacktop rather than a soft cushy bed), but when the difficulties present themselves, I don't go down the rabbit hole of instantly presuming that It's Over.
And that, my friends, is definitely a gift. Where it comes from, I don't know... but I am definitely, definitely, thankful for it.
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I hear you about the perception of the thin line’s changing shape and depth. I hear you about the equanimity one can assume when faced with the thin line’s variability. I also share that fear of sliding down the proverbial rabbit hole. Then sometimes I remind myself that there is at least some possibility that the “rabbit” I encounter might be of the Harvey (Jimmy Stewart) variety; one of your “gifts,” in other words. Yeah, and I acknowledge that my ability to be philosophical about the whole subject of walking may derive from the fact that I am still walking, compromised though it might be.
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