22 November 2015
Because I had broken ribs, I was completely paranoid of sneezing. I didn’t think about it too much, but I did worry about what it would feel like that first time. Given that I often sneeze 4-6 times in a row, you can understand my concern. It was at least 2 months after the accident that I felt the build up – but the sneeze that happened was the most dainty little outward sniff I’d ever experienced. Phew.
Fears replace fears, so the new one was falling out of the chair. The only time I really let loose with expletives in rehab was after a quick roll down a steep incline when I felt completely out of control and ended up stopping short and leaning well forward in the chair. I didn’t fall out, but I certainly gave the Occupational Therapist a bit of blue streak for her trouble. After that, I knew it would eventually happen and before long I found myself wishing it would happen just to get it over with. I wanted to fall out and live so I could dust myself off and stop thinking about it. I’m sure you know where this is going.
This evening, Steve, Friday and I went over to the lovely Esplanade for a roll/walk. Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve been trying to get out for a quick push a couple of times per week – sort of treating it like a run. Going a bit hard for 25 minutes and then cooling it on the way home. There I was, pushing along at a nice pace and looming before me was a manhole cover set in the pavement, but with a nice yawning gap and about a 1.5 inch lip. I was staring at it for several meters – do I stop? do I go hard and get over it? I went hard. I did not go over it. The chair went left and I went right. I might have made a sound a bit like a chicken before hitting the ground with a thud. Honestly? It wasn’t so bad. Steve and a kind passerby helped me up (thanks, Amber, for teaching me how!), and I think Steve scraped one of his fingers in the process – he was the only one with any blood to show for it. My very rugged belaying gloves proved their worth.
I fell out and it wasn’t a practice and it wasn’t onto a cushion. One less thing to be concerned about. That’s not to say that I won’t be careful or that I will treat manhole covers with anything other than the respect they deserve, but I won’t be so worried now that it will necessarily hurt or that it will necessarily end with a whole new wound. I’ve never been very good at worrying or spending much time thinking about what could go wrong. It is not in my nature. When it does happen, like worrying about falling out of the chair, I’m stumped. I don’t know how to think about it in any productive way, and I don’t know how to put it completely out of my mind. I’m interested in the idea that what scares me or worries me for the most part, is physical pain. I don’t seem to worry about embarrassment or failure.
I’m sure something new will come along to replace the rapid ejection from the chair as a fear, but for now, I’m pretty glad that one is gone. What a happy way to end a weekend.
I, like you, am glad it finally happened. More than glad you survived it, and now happy for you so that you can move on. I remember the steep incline the heart stopping fear I felt, and the helplessness I felt in not being able to be the big sister and be of more help. Maybe this is more of the growing and learning part. Like everything else in your life, you will succeed at this as well.
I am an acquaintance of your sister, Leslie, over here in the states. A while back she was telling me about you. Just this afternoon I asked how you are doing. After catching me up she mentioned your website. Well, it’s obvious I found it 😉 I appreciate your candor and observations. I am one of those people who invites a conversation with a person about their challenge or disability. I struggled with depression. My father-in-law suffered with ALS. That’s when I learned to allow someone to face their challenge head-on and just be there. I look forward to hearing more of your observations & thank you for sharing life from your vantage point. It wakes the rest of us up and gives us food for thought. Bodily functions we take for granted (shame on us) you are grateful for whatever portion is still functioning. You already are a blessing to others!