Recovery is still, as always, a work-in-progress, seemingly ad infinitum at that. If I had any doubt, if I imagined that I was in the final stretches of my healing journey, the past couple of weeks have shaken me – sometimes quite literally – up and straight out of that reverie.
Hello again, goes the sharp tingle, as it razzmatazzes up and down my left arm.
No way am I done with you, shrieks my pubic bone.
Not a chance, cramps the back of my half-slumbering left leg.
Anchor still firmly wedged into backside, roars my sacrum.
Oh, the chorus of unwanteds, my body’s caste of undesirables.
Daring to wish that my ever-present pain-conductors pack it all in and beat a hasty retreat into the past; cut the sting off my daily living; and hand me back my higher-functioning body.
Where to find now, the comfort of cooling my sweaty feet on freshly-washed floor tiles – when thinly-padded skin precludes barefooting of any kind, for (almost) any reason, at all? How to find a still-elusive natural gait, without vesting focus and intention in every step, body erect, correcting the subtle limp that a shortened leg has bequeathed?
Thoughts that remain deeply embedded, rarely-spoken dream-bits: Legs that sweep along in balanced rhythm; a left foot that touches smooth silky sand rather than sharp, craggy patches jutting upwards each step of the way; a sacrum that undulates with the movement of my limbs, rather than with the stiffness and weight of molten lead.
The ebb and flow of healing. More to come.
Healing Pilgrim 
Yikes. Thanks for sharing this with us. What’s the longest you can go without feeling one (or more) of these things? I think making art out of/from it all is a wonderful idea.
We just made our first visit to Montreal with Molly, believe it or not – it only took seven years. I chuckled with you and Orit as I noticed how exotic it all was for us – trying to speak a new language, the Mont Real playground with strange structures for playing (and Molly making fast friends with someone in a new language), a buckwheat crepe at the Little Italy Marche, strange money that made us feel like we were playing “store,” the Chinese bakery where we picked up a tray and piled on mysterious pastries, lots of people smoking…even the brick streets and clip-clop of horse and buggy were thrilling for Molly. And all just two hours away! We’ve got to get out more!!
Depends on how long I can remain motionless… 🙂
Glad to hear about your adventures with Molly, so much to explore!
When DID you finish the/your shelled leg? It is beautiful in that lighting…on the floor…in…? Where does it stand or lay now?
I am so so sorry…that there is still so much pain…with each step…and yet so much of your writings do not allude to it at all!
And so…I keep wishing you that each step moves you…towards TOTAL recovery my dearest sis…
xo oj
Reading many of your posts, I am surprised how much energy you have to study and experiance the Asian world.
It is indeed sad that you still suffer so much.
Ana and I are praying for your quick recovery.
Thanks, but it really is helpful to find so much beauty (and distractions) to keep my mind off the pain 🙂