No, not wear mismatched socks; although, yes, that. My right foot can wear normal socks; the left requires larger fluffier socks. And doesn’t it deserve that?
For the first time since I was… what?… seven months? When do kids stand for the first time? I should know this. Anyway, I discovered I can put my foot down.
And keep it there.
I’m standing on my own two feet again.
For a few seconds before it starts hurting. But still! Progress!
Several of you have inquired how my healing is going, and my answer has pretty much been: it’s not. Since many of you also comment that I’m great at keeping my chin up, I haven’t wanted to talk about my struggles and let you down.
It’s really not so bad, but maybe the worst is when I dream that I can walk and then within my dream am like, “Oh. Wait.”
Or when watching something and thinking, “Wow. That person can walk!” Or seeing pics of my younger self as, “back in the good ol’ days when I could walk.”
Which is sort of dumb since it’s only been months, not years. And these are not complaints or “where are my tissues?” thoughts. They’re just a shift in perspective that makes me sooooo not take walking for granted. When I can actually do so again, it’s going to be uh-mazing!
On our recent family trip to the zoo, I saw an old lady also in a wheelchair. As we rolled past each other, I wanted to double tap my chest and extend a peace sign in solidarity. But she probably would’ve thought/discovered what a weirdo I am.
Before Christmas, we went to a shopping center that had a huge Christmas tree strung with lights that impressively changed color in time with festive music. There was also a machine blowing bubbles for kids, including mine, to prance around in and pop.
I sat nearby in my wheelchair, remarking to Hubs that I felt like a 90-year-old watching her great grandchildren. All I needed was a quilt across my lap.
Actually, that would’ve been nice. It was kind of chilly.