the damned Tibetans
Are hurting my arms and shoulders. I know it's because I'm getting stronger, etc. etc., but I do not like sore muscles, and it's not what my yoga practice has usually been about.
Living with C's mysterious and progressive mobility disability is like back to the olden days when we thought he might "recover" from his autism. All the time rejecting reality, feeling guilty for believing what is visible and thinking you should be holding on to some whack-ass vision of what he "should" be like. Only in those days should was about communication and now it's about walking. Oh, and mortality.
We made a decision to fix C's feet - to put a lot of metal in his ankles to keep them from moving side to side - and that decision means that when C is my age, he will very likely have arthritis, which will very likely reduce his mobility. So I am trading his mobility now for his mobility later. And sitting in the room? The thought that went through my head was that he might not live to be my age.
That is seriously fucked up.
which is not to say that I'm reconsidering the decision or doubting whether it's the right thing to give him some mobile years now even if we know it will end. But dude. I wish his lifespan wasn't the other thing that I feel like I have to get used to being different. and just so you know, the medical folks will not talk about this. Do not have any guesses at what the prognosis for his weirdness is. Continue to say only, Huh. Weird. When we look at particular parts of the weirdness, they begin to guess at what they might do. But there is not a syndrome or disease or disorder or ism that would manifest in all these things. At least not that they know of. And so I walk around waiting for the boy to degenerate and die, and I can't tell if that's because I am a hysterical mom or if it's because my kid gets a new weirdness every couple of years and nothing seems to stop this crazy train. It is in the real world, but the slippery slope might just be in my head.
Living with C's mysterious and progressive mobility disability is like back to the olden days when we thought he might "recover" from his autism. All the time rejecting reality, feeling guilty for believing what is visible and thinking you should be holding on to some whack-ass vision of what he "should" be like. Only in those days should was about communication and now it's about walking. Oh, and mortality.
We made a decision to fix C's feet - to put a lot of metal in his ankles to keep them from moving side to side - and that decision means that when C is my age, he will very likely have arthritis, which will very likely reduce his mobility. So I am trading his mobility now for his mobility later. And sitting in the room? The thought that went through my head was that he might not live to be my age.
That is seriously fucked up.
which is not to say that I'm reconsidering the decision or doubting whether it's the right thing to give him some mobile years now even if we know it will end. But dude. I wish his lifespan wasn't the other thing that I feel like I have to get used to being different. and just so you know, the medical folks will not talk about this. Do not have any guesses at what the prognosis for his weirdness is. Continue to say only, Huh. Weird. When we look at particular parts of the weirdness, they begin to guess at what they might do. But there is not a syndrome or disease or disorder or ism that would manifest in all these things. At least not that they know of. And so I walk around waiting for the boy to degenerate and die, and I can't tell if that's because I am a hysterical mom or if it's because my kid gets a new weirdness every couple of years and nothing seems to stop this crazy train. It is in the real world, but the slippery slope might just be in my head.