I’m off work for the next two weeks while I try to navigate my new disabled life and continue evaluating the effectiveness of the Gabapentin my doctor prescribed.
It’s not really a vacation at all, and it sucks that this is how I’m blowing my PTO. But a great deal more of this life is out of my control than I ever imagined would be when I was a young(er) adult. I’m learning to accept that, but not without a nice, ridiculous internal struggle first.
My itinerary for today included three things:
- Call the vet to secure Boomer’s boarding reservation for later in the month.
- Buy a mobility aid.
Check, check, and check.
And, yes, I do have to trick myself into resting by pretending someone’s life depends on it. Huh. I guess that life would be mine, come to think of it.
We got my cane at Walmart. God bless them, the thing was right inside the door, and I got to test it out while we walked around, smelled the pumpkin spice candles, and gasped at the ungodly price of area rugs.
$11.87. That’s what this institutional black walking cane cost me. They had some more decorative stuff available, but nothing I saw (even online) suited me. I promised myself I’d pimp my ride with stickers and streamers and other accessories in the future. What mattered most was achieving upright stability.
Much as I love Dan, I hate hanging on his arm all the time. As an accessory, he just doesn’t coordinate with my independent streak.
After we paid, Dan handed the cane back to me. “Ready to go, Grandma?” he asked.
“I’m going to need you to take a ‘Get off my lawn’ pic of me waving my cane in the air when we get home,” I laughed.
“Consider it done.”
I am very slowly coming to terms with how I look, but it is not easy. If I had aged at a normal pace and gained weight gradually, it might not be so shocking to see pictures of myself or catch a glimpse in a mirror. But I currently look at myself and think, Who the hell is that? Doesn’t seem to matter that I’ve looked this way for two years now.
I am in the grieving stage of chronic illness. It’s harder than denial, which is probably why I hung out there so long.
When I had bursitis in my hip earlier this year my husband bought me a walking cane with flowers on it. I loved it. Didn’t make the excruciating pain in my hip go away but my doctor remarked how “happy” my cane looked and it gave me a few minutes of joy. Definitely think you should “pimp your cane.”
I will. And there will be pictures! 🙂