I am genetically hardwired to "over-do-it." I can't help it - either it's all nature or I've learned by observing my parents over the years. For instance, these are some of my Dad's ideas of a "fun" vacation: several Ironmans; dozens of marathons; biking across America (the entire country which is also, by the way, a continent); competing in 50 km + cross-country ski races internationally; walking across Spain; and biking up gravel highways in Alaska. My mother is also an over-doer, but in a different way: if there's something she's interested in or wants to learn about, particularly if it relates to art or fabric, not only has she signed up for five courses, but she's purchased most of the magazines and books related to the topic, she has at least five pounds of materials and equipment and something being shipped from the States, she is best friends with shop owners, teachers and ladies overseas who are also interested in dyeing fabric/stitching/textile, and she has fifteen new projects started. With the parents that I have I am left with no choice but to tackle the project in front of me with exceeding amounts of determination and enthusiasm. Including recovery.
I have not been able to walk the distance of a block without considerable pain since February. Now I can walk! I am seeing my neighborhood for the first time and getting outside more than I have in months. Getting stronger is very exciting, but I want to walk more. I want to walk farther. I've been waiting to walk for so long that one small walk a day isn't good enough. I can sort of swim now, too, with a buoy between my legs, and getting in the water awoke such a glorious sensation of freedom that I went out a little hard and may have swam a hundred meters too many. The problem with walking or swimming in excess is that I don't have any glute muscles, so if I do too much, as I'm told repeatedly, I risk hurting myself, delaying recovery, developing weird muscle imbalances... The words of warning melt away when I'm walking just one more block or swimming just fifty more meters.
Sometimes around the house I've taken to one-crutching it. Using a hand to hold objects is very useful. With one crutch I can move a beverage from point A to point B, or take ingredients out of the fridge to make a sandwich. The liberty is intoxicating: it makes me want to use both hands, to roam crutch-less, free to pick up whatever object whenever I want! I got in trouble for my brazen contempt of mobility aids. Dan found me at the kitchen table and my crutches across the room. Not only did I get a stern lecture (you're not ready to go without crutches! You'll develop a limp that will take way longer to correct than learning to walk properly in the first place! You're going to hurt yourself and then what?) but I got "I am disappointed in you" eyes. I hate "I am disappointed in you" eyes. Guilt is the worst punishment of them all. I have since been much more diligent in using my crutches/walker and I hurt less at night. It's the worst when people telling you what to do end up being right.
Yesterday I was officially allowed to drive again. My test run was pretty disastrous: I nearly ran over a teenage cyclist. I'm off of the drugs but somehow I'm still a total space cadet. Maybe I've always been a ditz and just didn't know? Since driving was a total bust I'm not allowed to go out without further practice and supervision, which keeps me housebound. It's probably a good thing for general public safety.
I really want to swim more, and start yoga. Exercise, even in its gentlest forms, feels so good after six months of disability and inactivity. Whenever I say 'yoga' or 'daily swims' Mom and Dan get this pained look in their eyes and say: let's wait and hear what the physio says. I see physio on Thursday and Mom is accompanying me to hear exactly what I can and cannot do and generally lay down the law.
I know that the protectiveness and bossing around I'm experiencing are in my best interest. It's hard to remember that I'm only eight weeks into a 24 week process when I'm caught up in the thrill of moving. Learning to walk is a lot harder than I anticipated. It will be at least a few months before I can over-do-it without significantly hurting myself.
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