Initially I fashioned a stick out of the hoover tube, but R drew the
line at going outside like this, so bought me a walking stick. This
was interesting. As I struggled along I suddenly saw loads of people with
sticks. If I hadn’t been in so much pain I would have high-fived them.
Now I can do stairs and walking. I still can’t imagine running, jumping
climbing trees. I am slow. And I’m
not a slow person; I’m a fast walker usually, late, urgent, whizzy. But alas,
no longer. Now, I don’t so much saunter, nor do I plod; I have that special
deliberate walk of the very elderly. Everything is considered, measured. Small
steps. Sometimes I feel like I’m not moving, that’s how slow I’m going. I have promised
myself never to be impatient behind a Slowy again.
I am blessed with a wonderfully kind spouse. I have been a hideosity; huffed and sighed and sworn, shrieked and moaned. I wouldn’t want to live
with me at the moment.
I am stretching, the NHS way. Oh yes, I now know where my piriformis
is. When I first saw these stretches I laughed at the possibility of ever doing
them. Since my meds have kicked in I’ve been performing them slavishly, twice a
day, and following my father’s advice, hanging off our chin-up bar. I did at
first also poo-poo this as too athletic but apparently his doctor told him to
hang from a tree branch and he tells me he was cured within two hours. (This may
mean he hung from a tree branch for two whole hours!)
On day four I went for a sports massage with the magical Elisa. The usual
five minute jog to her house took me thirty minutes. The massage was great,
painful in a positive way and I am gradually improving. Advice to self:
whenever I see a suitable tree branch I will hang off it and I promise to keep my piriformis stretchy.
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