I Must Have Been Really Bad...

IN A PREVIOUS LIFE. "Little Steps" by Gloria Christie

I was blessed with an ample bottom. It fit very nicely in the Home for Wayward Writers and Others Cadillac of wheelchairs. But when it came time to go home, Medicare said I didn’t weigh enough to take one of these glorious wheelchairs or walkers with me. Funny, my doctor says I weigh 10 pounds too much to have surgery. Regardless, after seven and one-half weeks at rehab and hospital, I was at home. Sweet home.

Body memory is a strange thing. At The Home, I sat at the grand piano and played songs I hadn’t played in multiple, multiple decades. And my only real problem in rehab was trying to go up a step. But at home, I popped right up the front step! It was a snap. So I figured I would be tooling around home like crazy. Wrong.

Photo by Mubariz Mehdizadeh on Unsplash

I did okay in physical therapy (PT) and enjoyed it. But here at home, I have different equipment, different paths, and different muscles used. In other words, maneuvering to the bathroom and back left me drenched in sweat. But it isn’t as if you can say “I think I’ll just stop here,” halfway to my chair. Then, I remembered my head physical therapist’s last words to me:

“You can do this. You’ll be alright.”

Those words rang in my head during my few remaining steps to my chair. Without those precious words, I’m not certain I would have made it. And now, each trip to and from the loo gets just a little easier.

You know, I thought “loo” was British, but guess what? Plumbworld said:

“Loo is actually derived from the French phrase ‘guardez l’eau’, which means ‘watch out for the water’.”

Words make all the difference. Positive and negative.

After a discussion with a close relative that pulled all the optimism out of me, I felt like giving up. Yet, my PT’s words returned. “You can do this.” So, I pushed myself to my feet (using the very correct PT position). And I bathed in the warm words gifted me the last time I saw my wonderful physical therapist.

I’ll be honest. These first days at home have not been easy. Today I made coffee and was thrilled at my accomplishment! Yesterday I made it to the kitchen and prepared a smoothie. Then words start eating at me, negative words.

“Surely, I should be doing better. Is that all? Why aren’t you doing more?”

And then I remembered the words of the nurse who stopped by for the old stick-your-finger-here and a Star Wars gizmo temperature take. She turned as she was walking out the door and said:

“Little steps. Little steps.”

I like living alone. I don’t like for people to know how hard this exercise in strength gathering is for me. I struggle. I moan sometimes. I even cry out when my knee decides to give. But the alternative is life in a wheelchair. And I’m not ready for that.

Besides, I know I can get through this rough part. But it is because someone I know told me I can do this. And even little accomplishments are little steps. And little steps are big accomplishments.

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