Posted by: L | March 14, 2008

Recovery as a Type A personality and laughter

You gotta love Type A personalities (me)! Our plans sometimes SOOOO exceed what we can actually do. Well not always. Only after major, you know, spinal surgery kinda stuff. I had all these hopes (dreams) that I’d be able to just well do more than I am.

I’m not complaining. Far from it. Each day I continue to center on celebrating the smallest successes as well as figuring how to cope with, and laugh at my limitations. Case in point. I currently have limited turning left/right directional capacity due to the brace and general wobbliness. Which means for the last three week and about the next three weeks I’m not to cross the street without someone with me. Who knew!!! The catch? I’m supposed to walk every day or at least every other day to build up my stamina.

If that’s not a whoa baby, pull me up by shorts kinda feeling I don’t know what is. I’ve not had to have an escort to cross the street since I was about 6! Not a big deal when you have people around all day but I’m now solo during the day. I was a bit slow in figuring it out. It only took me a couple of days. The idea? I could walk around my block. It’s about an eighth of a mile in total and I wouldn’t have to cross the street.

Duh the block stares at me every day. OK, technically I stare at it all day. I rationalize the length of time it took me to figure this brilliant idea out by telling myself that I’m always going somewhere else, not around my block. So of course it wouldn’t come to me in a speed of light kinda way. It works for me. The rationalization thing.

On my first excursion out around the block I had a great family flashback. My brother, at five, declared he was running away from home to live with G&G in Utah (we lived in Texas) because they loved him more. The drama. My mom humored him through the whole process. She listened to why he was running away (not loved enough), discussed what he should take (parka, PJ’s…), what the best routes was (bus), money, etc. She helped him pack, how he should carry everything and then oh so casually reminded him as he walked down the walkway that he wasn’t to talk to strangers and that he was to cross the street with an adult. (Priceless)

Even then he was a wee stubborn thing (an indication for future years). Not to be deterred, he marched down the walkway and turned onto the sidewalk and kept walking. In circles. Around the block. My Aunt Char (she lived on the back side of the block) called my Mom. She was worried. Why was G walking past her house with a small case and his ski’s? My mom, through tears and laughter, told her he was running away from home – to Utah – and that he was most likely trying to figure how to cross the street without talking to strangers and with an adult. Several hours later he promptly walked into the house and announced that he had re-thought his decision and was ready to come home and that he would runaway when he was older and could cross the street on his own.

I laughed. It felt good to laugh. It’s such a healing emotion.

Sadly no knitting yet. But I’m able to type more and sit up without to much resting for a full day!

PS: I’m up to four laps.

PPS: G is now 40 and still hasn’t heard the last of this momentous event. Probably never will.

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