“Rest!” they told me so I only did half of what I usually do in a day. I ended up unable to walk without being bent over. “REST!” They said so I spent most of one day following orders but then worked as usual the following day. That night I ended up in an emergency room writhing in pain.
I’m good with words but the definition of resting seemed to elude me. Finally my doctor defined it clearly by insisting that I do no gardening, no house cleaning, no lifting or bending over to pick things up. I was supposed to just read or watch a few movies and leave the hard chores for someone else.
I suppose that I was never born to be a little princess waiting for someone to cook and clean and do all the chores around the house. I actually enjoy all the tasks that people often hire someone else to do. I get joy out of dipping my hands into the dirt, hauling bags of soil or mulch to a flowerbed. I like the feeling of having a dust free, spic and span house that looks as though no human has ever lived there. Sadly my body turned on me and I had to learn a new way of having fun that did not entail physical labor at all. Even standing or sitting for hours to teach math to my students left me bent over in pain so I had to give in to a temporary way of life that is so unlike me. Suddenly I was free to read all day long or binge watch every series or movie that I ever wanted to see.
My doctor told me that most people my age have some kind of trouble with their backs. I’ve heard quite a few stories from friends and relatives. Up until now I had no idea what it was like to be crippled by a herniated disc. I could not imagine having pamper myself in order to get well and yet here I was, groaning in pain, never getting far away from my heating pad, worried that I might hurt myself just by walking up and down the stairs.
Once again I have learned to have way more compassion for anyone who is having trouble with bad knees, or spasms in the back or even feet that hurt after a short walk. It seems that we humans begin to wear out our parts as we age just as old cars or appliances might do. Now and again we have to get some repairs done or we come to a screeching halt. So it has been with me.
I am surrounded by far wiser people than I am. They have sent me baskets of tea and biscuits to enjoy while I read from the many books that I purchase but never give myself time to read. They brought me books of puzzles to ponder and artwork to color. They remind me daily not to get too whoopee before I heal enough to do some physical therapy. They sweetly laugh when I tell them that I am embarrassed for seeming to be weak. They insist that I am being too hard on myself and even as I know they are right. I am itching to get back to my industrious self. I am not accustomed to sitting around. I measure my days by how much I get done. Now I am confined to being far more contemplative and zen.
I’m quite bad at taking the advice that I lovingly give to others. I’d rather be the caretaker than the person receiving the care. It is a quirk of my personality that if analyzed is not particularly good. I tell people all the time to pamper themselves, to stop to smell the roses. I insist that we should all pause to listen to the quiet, hear the whispers in the wind, be thankful when others want to help. Then I turn around and become the kind of hard headed person who drives me insane. It’s funny how that works.
So I have been good for many days now. I don’t want to backslide so I have decided to become the world’s greatest patient. I’m competitive like that. I have challenged myself to do what I know is best for a full recovery. I am determined to finally give in to the pain and just enjoy the glorious times of forgetting about dust on the furniture or toilets that need to be scrubbed. I relinquish those tasks to sweet individuals who earnestly want to help me. Also I don’t want people to think that I am so proud that I would work myself into another visit to the ER just to prove that I am not as weak as I feel I am right now.
I have a lovely view of my neighborhood from my upstairs bedroom. I have piles of books and lots of fun things to occupy my mind. I write and do those puzzles and discover shows that I have never before watched. I’m even considering actually taking the time to sit and relearn calculus more almost sixty eight years after the last such class that I took. I’ve been doing enough pre-Calculus to take the plunge. The command that I avoid heavy activities provides me with a very valid excuse to finally do something that I have skirted around for years.
I might finish that Christmas runner that I was quilting before my father-in-law came to our home two years ago and I became distracted with taking care of him. I can certainly write to my heart’s content without feeling the least bit of guilt now that I know that doing so is therapeutic. I can meditate and pray and call friends or at least send them greetings with cards. There is more than one way to feel useful without moving furniture or working myself into a spasm. I’ve got this. In fact, I’m beginning to see how it might even be fun. So here’s to the all new me. Wish me luck. I’m an old dog but surely it’s not too late to learn some new tricks.
All It Takes Is A Little Love 