Skip to main content

Letting Go with Grace

Can't quite call it a fall, but I did a slow-mo sink to the ground while loading up my bookshelf. Tried to recover and ended up flat on my back in front of the entry door. Talked to the cat until my husband tried to walk back into the house. (Oh, the comedic giggles we get to have today!)

 Once upon a time I would have railed in anger or cried in self pity.  Today, it was total acceptance.  Well, what else could I do?  On my knees next to my walker, I attempted to crawl back up.  No dice!  I pushed it away and went to hands and knees to discover the arms without strength and I did another slo-mo as my face touched the tile entryway.  Well, this is new, I thought.  Uncomfortable facedown on the cold tile, I worked my way onto my back.  The cat was delighted!  Her little face loomed over mine and her whiskers tickled my face.

 "Well, it's you and me, Grace, and I sure wish you could open the door or call somebody."  She couldn't.  So, I went with it.  I was able to pet the cat and talk to her awhile and be grateful my husband wasn't yet back to work.  He was fussing in the yard.  I was also grateful when I heard footsteps clumping up the wheelchair ramp.  I know he was startled to find me on the floor but grateful that I was smiling big.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Lashing Out

Fed up. Sick of hearing, "I'm sorry."  Apologies don't erase the pain you inflict on me. You pull my pubic hair. Your nitrile gloves pull the hair from my head. Not once in a while but day in and day out. You turn me in a manner that suits you rather than in a manner that doesn't stress my body. Why won't you use the pad and sheet to turn me as one unit? Instead, you allow my body to twist as you hold me one-handed. How good you are at your job. What part of "my muscles are dying" don't you understand?
Post a Comment
Read more

Fall

Orange, gold, rust, burnt sienna, ochre, raw umber; the riot of fall colors, in the trees and at our booted feet; a drive in the countryside; the taste of hot apple cider on my lips; the satisfaction of a truckload of firewood we gathered and cut ourselves; elk herds on the move; hearty stews, savory soup, crusty whole-grain bread, pumpkin and gingerbread spice lattes; these are the memories I tap into the most this time of year. Cabela's fliers in the mailbox; Carhart's camo-clad hunters swarm outlying areas; mushroom garthering; huckleberry picking; logger burgers; forest service roads; cheese sandwiches on the woodstove; warm quilts, cool sheets, and flannel nightgowns; cold butt, warm heart.  Immensely grateful to have the well of memories to draw upon.
Post a Comment
Read more

Shards Cling To

I just met my new psychologist and I already like her. I would say that it is effortless to talk to her, but talking to anyone through an augmentative and alternative communication (AAC) device takes a great deal of effort. One must think about what to say and drill it down concisely and succinctly, Then attempt to type it out with your eyes on a wonderous, but infuriating machine, and hope you nail the 'Speak' button, and not the 'Cancel' button. You're praying that the device doesn't spontaneously, disengage the eye gaze, leaving you mute and helpless. You're also praying that the calibration holds and your eyes don't tire or dry out. Aside from all of that, she did not overwhelm me with rapid fire questions, nor invade my personal space, by insisting on reading while I'm writing, instead of allowing me to "speak". Those things are huge. Counseling somebody with my disabilities, present unique challenges. I have major physical deficit...
Post a Comment
Read more