Back to the grind; but a grind that will invariably continue to yield positive results. More healing, better health and strength and overall improved wellbeing. And so, I lost no time setting up my appointments like so many soldiers in a regimen(t) from which I’d broken rank a few months ago.
First off, to my podiatrist. Dr. G. wasted no time giving me marching orders – quite literally. Her bottom line: It’s time to lose the cane, time to pick up the pace, get myself lost in the walking-ness of life. Now, those are orders I would normally buy into, that I would tend to agree with wholeheartedly. But that’s hypothetically speaking. What, you’d like me to walk with nothing at all? Hardly. Always brimming with ideas and leads, Dr. G. recommended that I join the local walking and Nordic hiking group, whose members can be seen traipsing through her neighborhood, hiking staffs in hand. Eureka! The next goal on my way to recovery may very well be to hike up to the summit right here in the city!!
Then, I was back on my osteopath’s table. In no time, she went right to work, within minutes setting my pelvic region on fire. Had this been my first visit, I’d have hit the ceiling, left in a huff and possibly considered malpractice. But trusting Susan’s hands and intuition as I do, I gnawed and bit my lip, squinted, cringed, stifled a cry pressing against my chest, and breathed deeply. Like a chicken on a spit, she turned me this way and that, manipulated here and there, and finally asked what kind of shock my body had sustained while I was away. Only after leaving the office did the answer dawn on me: probably suffering through an unexpectedly tough winter!
When the manipulations subsided, and I rose to dress, Susan flat-out urged me to drop the cane. What’s this, a conspiracy? A cohort of healing preachers setting me off to my demise? What’s next? Do I really need to hear those words echoed by yet another of my therapeutic practitioners? I may be timid and a tad anxious about it all, but all signs point to the same fact: I’m about to get knocked out of the cane-game. OK. Onwards, healing soldiers. Sort of.
The godawful truth is that I feel quite shaky at the prospect of walking sans-stick. What happens if… I feel unstable and wobbly? If there’s no wall nearby to catch me before I tumble? What if I’m out walking and the 20 tonnes of anchor that are my sacrum weighs me down so much that I need a crutch of some kind…? What if, what if, what if…?
And then, today, I was back in the pool that for so long had been my home away from home. Swimming with more strength than I’d had previously, I carried on through the escalating pain that struck my foot about halfway down the lane. My thoughts were centered on all that cane-talk: was I really ready?
Then I recalled that, early in my recovery, I’d gained a singular clarity of vision for my healing process: fearless. Proceed with caution, yes. One step at a time, ok. Take a break if I must. But, right now, my life has no breathing space for fear. Which is just fine by me. Time for a new adventure.