I missed another event this weekend because I can’t travel well to the beach. Walkers and back braces don’t do sand. Walkers also don’t do briskly.
It is a strange feeling when I recognize that I, with walker and back brace, am moving slower than everyone else. Sometimes I watch everyone around me and think: I’m in that original Star Trek episode where the members of the crew hear buzzing and don’t know what it is, only to find out later it’s an altered and fast dimension. The crew members in that fast dimension see the other dimension as so slow as to be immobile. I feel like I’m in that slow dimension. It upsets me. I don’t like moving slow and fear I may be missing out on something, anything. Growing up, I hated eating. My mom took me to the doctor. The doctor and my mom concluded that it wasn’t that I didn’t like eating as much as I was afraid I was going to miss something exciting if I took the time to sit down to eat.
I felt like that today waiting for the shuttle, watching people walk briskly past me. I wanted to walk briskly and expertly weave in and out of the patches of people on the sidewalk and the café. Like I used to do. Instead, I sat on the bench and watched, realizing I couldn’t run over to the café for an iced coffee and still make the shuttle. The shuttle driver helped me board the bus and then lifted my walker and perched it in the corner. I sit in an altered dimension. You wouldn’t think that this would be an issue. It doesn’t seem like much. But the tears stole their way to the surface, where I caught them and chased them back.
Yeah, I miss walking fast and navigating the crowds. It’s sometimes hard to express something like this because the response is always, You should be grateful, at least, you’re walking. So I don’t usually share the thought. I’m not looking for sympathy. I’m just acknowledging that I miss a part of my life that was as natural as breathing. Believe me, I am grateful to be walking and living and dancing and fighting, but, as soon as I finish this entry, I’m going to check craigslist and eBay for a walker that does briskly.
I missed another event this weekend because I can’t travel well to the beach. Walkers and back braces don’t do sand. Walkers also don’t do briskly.
It is a strange feeling when I recognize that I, with walker and back brace, am moving slower than everyone else. Sometimes I watch everyone around me and think: I’m in that original Star Trek episode where the members of the crew hear buzzing and don’t know what it is, only to find out later it’s an altered and fast dimension. The crew members in that fast dimension see the other dimension as so slow as to be immobile. I feel like I’m in that slow dimension. It upsets me. I don’t like moving slow and fear I may be missing out on something, anything. Growing up, I hated eating. My mom took me to the doctor. The doctor and my mom concluded that it wasn’t that I didn’t like eating as much as I was afraid I was going to miss something exciting if I took the time to sit down to eat.
I felt like that today waiting for the shuttle, watching people walk briskly past me. I wanted to walk briskly and expertly weave in and out of the patches of people on the sidewalk and the café. Like I used to do. Instead, I sat on the bench and watched, realizing I couldn’t run over to the café for an iced coffee and still make the shuttle. The shuttle driver helped me board the bus and then lifted my walker and perched it in the corner. I sit in an altered dimension. You wouldn’t think that this would be an issue. It doesn’t seem like much. But the tears stole their way to the surface, where I caught them and chased them back.
Yeah, I miss walking fast and navigating the crowds. It’s sometimes hard to express something like this because the response is always, You should be grateful, at least, you’re walking. So I don’t usually share the thought. I’m not looking for sympathy. I’m just acknowledging that I miss a part of my life that was as natural as breathing. Believe me, I am grateful to be walking and living and dancing and fighting, but, as soon as I finish this entry, I’m going to check craigslist and eBay for a walker that does briskly.
Hello Donna, I’m glad to have the privledge to read your eloquent posts. Your attitude is wonderful in such a situation. I too have a disability and walk with a cane. I praise God every day that I’m not in pain though. Doctors say a generic decease that effects the nerves to the muscles. CMT. I may be in a wheel chair someday. When people meet me and ask what is wrong with my legs and I say like Forrest Gump. I got the wrong chocolate in the box. I feel your frustration. You are a blessing to others. Remember God is with you and I’ll be praying for you. Keep writing you are an inspiration to others. Regards Kathy
Dearest Donna,
I can’t tell you how inspiring your writing is about your journey. I lost my husband of 42 years to colon cancer, my Dad to Pancreas Cancer 11 months ago and my brother two months ago. Hospice, care givers classes, friends and family were of great help to me, but it doesn’t come close to your expression of thoughts and feelings. They are gems and nuggets, that are essential for you to share with many, many who are walking same walk as you. Way too many are suffering and looking for a beacon of light in their moment to moment struggle. They are not able or willing to share their struggle, like you, but will gladly read and grab as to a life raft to your inspirational writings. Please keep on writing and sharing, it is enormous and priceless gift that you are giving. It is educational and soul searching nutrition. Please consider publishing it.
With my prayers I wish you Gods peace and serenity, Diane
(forgive my spelling, English is my second language)
I missed another event this weekend because I can’t travel well to the beach. Walkers and back braces don’t do sand. Walkers also don’t do briskly.
It is a strange feeling when I recognize that I, with walker and back brace, am moving slower than everyone else. Sometimes I watch everyone around me and think: I’m in that original Star Trek episode where the members of the crew hear buzzing and don’t know what it is, only to find out later it’s an altered and fast dimension. The crew members in that fast dimension see the other dimension as so slow as to be immobile. I feel like I’m in that slow dimension. It upsets me. I don’t like moving slow and fear I may be missing out on something, anything. Growing up, I hated eating. My mom took me to the doctor. The doctor and my mom concluded that it wasn’t that I didn’t like eating as much as I was afraid I was going to miss something exciting if I took the time to sit down to eat.
I felt like that today waiting for the shuttle, watching people walk briskly past me. I wanted to walk briskly and expertly weave in and out of the patches of people on the sidewalk and the café. Like I used to do. Instead, I sat on the bench and watched, realizing I couldn’t run over to the café for an iced coffee and still make the shuttle. The shuttle driver helped me board the bus and then lifted my walker and perched it in the corner. I sit in an altered dimension. You wouldn’t think that this would be an issue. It doesn’t seem like much. But the tears stole their way to the surface, where I caught them and chased them back.
Yeah, I miss walking fast and navigating the crowds. It’s sometimes hard to express something like this because the response is always, You should be grateful, at least, you’re walking. So I don’t usually share the thought. I’m not looking for sympathy. I’m just acknowledging that I miss a part of my life that was as natural as breathing. Believe me, I am grateful to be walking and living and dancing and fighting, but, as soon as I finish this entry, I’m going to check craigslist and eBay for a walker that does briskly.
I missed another event this weekend because I can’t travel well to the beach. Walkers and back braces don’t do sand. Walkers also don’t do briskly.
It is a strange feeling when I recognize that I, with walker and back brace, am moving slower than everyone else. Sometimes I watch everyone around me and think: I’m in that original Star Trek episode where the members of the crew hear buzzing and don’t know what it is, only to find out later it’s an altered and fast dimension. The crew members in that fast dimension see the other dimension as so slow as to be immobile. I feel like I’m in that slow dimension. It upsets me. I don’t like moving slow and fear I may be missing out on something, anything. Growing up, I hated eating. My mom took me to the doctor. The doctor and my mom concluded that it wasn’t that I didn’t like eating as much as I was afraid I was going to miss something exciting if I took the time to sit down to eat.
I felt like that today waiting for the shuttle, watching people walk briskly past me. I wanted to walk briskly and expertly weave in and out of the patches of people on the sidewalk and the café. Like I used to do. Instead, I sat on the bench and watched, realizing I couldn’t run over to the café for an iced coffee and still make the shuttle. The shuttle driver helped me board the bus and then lifted my walker and perched it in the corner. I sit in an altered dimension. You wouldn’t think that this would be an issue. It doesn’t seem like much. But the tears stole their way to the surface, where I caught them and chased them back.
Yeah, I miss walking fast and navigating the crowds. It’s sometimes hard to express something like this because the response is always, You should be grateful, at least, you’re walking. So I don’t usually share the thought. I’m not looking for sympathy. I’m just acknowledging that I miss a part of my life that was as natural as breathing. Believe me, I am grateful to be walking and living and dancing and fighting, but, as soon as I finish this entry, I’m going to check craigslist and eBay for a walker that does briskly.
Hello Donna, I’m glad to have the privledge to read your eloquent posts. Your attitude is wonderful in such a situation. I too have a disability and walk with a cane. I praise God every day that I’m not in pain though. Doctors say a generic decease that effects the nerves to the muscles. CMT. I may be in a wheel chair someday. When people meet me and ask what is wrong with my legs and I say like Forrest Gump. I got the wrong chocolate in the box. I feel your frustration. You are a blessing to others. Remember God is with you and I’ll be praying for you. Keep writing you are an inspiration to others. Regards Kathy
Dearest Donna,
I can’t tell you how inspiring your writing is about your journey. I lost my husband of 42 years to colon cancer, my Dad to Pancreas Cancer 11 months ago and my brother two months ago. Hospice, care givers classes, friends and family were of great help to me, but it doesn’t come close to your expression of thoughts and feelings. They are gems and nuggets, that are essential for you to share with many, many who are walking same walk as you. Way too many are suffering and looking for a beacon of light in their moment to moment struggle. They are not able or willing to share their struggle, like you, but will gladly read and grab as to a life raft to your inspirational writings. Please keep on writing and sharing, it is enormous and priceless gift that you are giving. It is educational and soul searching nutrition. Please consider publishing it.
With my prayers I wish you Gods peace and serenity, Diane
(forgive my spelling, English is my second language)