LJ Idol Season 5 Week 14 - A Lesson That She Learned Maybe a Little Too Well
o/` "Cowgirl, don't cry
Ride, baby, ride
Lessons in life show us all in time
Too soon God lets you know why
If you fall get right back on
Good Lord calls everybody home
Cowgirl don't cry" o/`
----- "Cowgirls Don't Cry" performed by Brooks and Dunn
I have resigned myself to the pain. It's as much a part of me now as my black Stetson, the GMC I drive, or the southwestern drawl with which I talk. Since I was diagnosed my life has gone from grand plans to simpler concerns.
My toes and ankles were first to lose mobility. You wouldn't believe how difficult it is to walk without any flexibility in those areas of the body, but I tried. I would grab my crutches and waddle in a stiff kneed gate from room to room. It took me longer to do the household chores and I had to give some of them up, but I still got things done.
One morning, I woke up and couldn't get my hands closed. I couldn't grasp the crutch handles or hold onto them when I walked. The wheelchair went from being a device we used for long walks or extended shopping trips to something I needed just to get around the house. A few more chores went by the wayside entirely but I discovered through experimentation that with the aid of a tool meant for picking things up off of lawns, I was still able to clean up the house. Taking the leg rests off the wheelchair enabled me to get close enough to the dishwasher to load it. I could reach the stove...barely. Our meal that evening was badly burnt, but I had made it myself and we ate it joyfully.
I embraced my newfound freedom and scuttled around the house like a demented water bug getting as much done as I possibly could. If I sometimes tired too quickly or had to take a nap in the middle of the day, I didn't mind. It was a small price to pay.
My knees began to hurt and then my shoulders. My skin flaked and then refused to heal; open sores wept a sticky fluid, itched like mad, and stuck to whatever material with which they came in contact. My hair began to fall out. I cried, quietly, and kept a smile on my face for the sake of my friends and family. Everyone could see I was sick now and they didn't ask how I felt or lie about my looking better. It was almost a relief.
The night I woke my husband up with my sobs and admitted I'd rather kill myself than live with the pain, he listened patiently and then convinced me to go see my primary care physician. I accepted what I considered defeat gracefully and left the office with two new prescriptions: a stronger pain medication and a medication meant to treat arthritis. We both recognized that last one for what it was --- a one-in-a-million shot in the dark --- but I was willing to take it.
Results seldom happen overnight and success is often measured in small improvements.
The next morning, an odd sensation awakened me. It took me a moment to realize I was wriggling my toes against the sheets. Accomplishments people take for granted made each day a celebration for us. I walked to the office. I waved to my husband as he went to work. I read for hours and didn't drop the book once. I could sit on the couch and get up off it without sobbing in pain.
I no longer thought of killing myself. I could bear whatever else happened now that the pain had been fought into submission.
Last weekend we went to Wal-Mart to pick up some prescriptions and a few household items. My husband pushed me around in the wheelchair while I sat comfortably, no longer hunched over and miserable with pain. At the check-out, he pushed the chair to one side and told me to wait.
I saw my chance and took it. While he paid for our purchases, I locked my hands into the silver rims of my wheelchair and gave it an experimental push forward. It didn't hurt.. The automatic doors slid open and I went through. Another ten feet...twenty...I was in the crosswalk. Thirty feet...forty...I had crossed the road and I could see the truck. Fifty feet --- I made it! I got myself all the way out to the truck without anyone's help.
And it didn't hurt one bit.
This entry was written for season five of therealljidol. If you liked it, please consider voting for me when the polls go up. I will let you know when they do. You might also want to join the community, as some votes are community only.
Ride, baby, ride
Lessons in life show us all in time
Too soon God lets you know why
If you fall get right back on
Good Lord calls everybody home
Cowgirl don't cry" o/`
----- "Cowgirls Don't Cry" performed by Brooks and Dunn
I have resigned myself to the pain. It's as much a part of me now as my black Stetson, the GMC I drive, or the southwestern drawl with which I talk. Since I was diagnosed my life has gone from grand plans to simpler concerns.
My toes and ankles were first to lose mobility. You wouldn't believe how difficult it is to walk without any flexibility in those areas of the body, but I tried. I would grab my crutches and waddle in a stiff kneed gate from room to room. It took me longer to do the household chores and I had to give some of them up, but I still got things done.
One morning, I woke up and couldn't get my hands closed. I couldn't grasp the crutch handles or hold onto them when I walked. The wheelchair went from being a device we used for long walks or extended shopping trips to something I needed just to get around the house. A few more chores went by the wayside entirely but I discovered through experimentation that with the aid of a tool meant for picking things up off of lawns, I was still able to clean up the house. Taking the leg rests off the wheelchair enabled me to get close enough to the dishwasher to load it. I could reach the stove...barely. Our meal that evening was badly burnt, but I had made it myself and we ate it joyfully.
I embraced my newfound freedom and scuttled around the house like a demented water bug getting as much done as I possibly could. If I sometimes tired too quickly or had to take a nap in the middle of the day, I didn't mind. It was a small price to pay.
My knees began to hurt and then my shoulders. My skin flaked and then refused to heal; open sores wept a sticky fluid, itched like mad, and stuck to whatever material with which they came in contact. My hair began to fall out. I cried, quietly, and kept a smile on my face for the sake of my friends and family. Everyone could see I was sick now and they didn't ask how I felt or lie about my looking better. It was almost a relief.
The night I woke my husband up with my sobs and admitted I'd rather kill myself than live with the pain, he listened patiently and then convinced me to go see my primary care physician. I accepted what I considered defeat gracefully and left the office with two new prescriptions: a stronger pain medication and a medication meant to treat arthritis. We both recognized that last one for what it was --- a one-in-a-million shot in the dark --- but I was willing to take it.
Results seldom happen overnight and success is often measured in small improvements.
The next morning, an odd sensation awakened me. It took me a moment to realize I was wriggling my toes against the sheets. Accomplishments people take for granted made each day a celebration for us. I walked to the office. I waved to my husband as he went to work. I read for hours and didn't drop the book once. I could sit on the couch and get up off it without sobbing in pain.
I no longer thought of killing myself. I could bear whatever else happened now that the pain had been fought into submission.
Last weekend we went to Wal-Mart to pick up some prescriptions and a few household items. My husband pushed me around in the wheelchair while I sat comfortably, no longer hunched over and miserable with pain. At the check-out, he pushed the chair to one side and told me to wait.
I saw my chance and took it. While he paid for our purchases, I locked my hands into the silver rims of my wheelchair and gave it an experimental push forward. It didn't hurt.. The automatic doors slid open and I went through. Another ten feet...twenty...I was in the crosswalk. Thirty feet...forty...I had crossed the road and I could see the truck. Fifty feet --- I made it! I got myself all the way out to the truck without anyone's help.
And it didn't hurt one bit.
This entry was written for season five of therealljidol. If you liked it, please consider voting for me when the polls go up. I will let you know when they do. You might also want to join the community, as some votes are community only.