On My Own Two Feet

Sometimes it seems as if my recovery is proceeding at a snail’s pace—three steps forward, two and a half steps back—and then, out of the blue, I notice a cascade of changes.

Friends very generously stopped by to hang out with me on Wednesday so that my husband could go to a work function. (Thanks, friends! We love you!)

It occurred to me after they’d left that over the course of their visit, I’d managed to do a few things I hadn’t in recent memory.

First, I sat up for several hours in a row and without major discomfort. Amongst my top-three PT goals is building how long I can stay in my wheelchair both because it’s hard to be a fully active participant in life from the seclusion of a hospital bed and because my body’s ability to handle sitting upright tends to be a reflection of my general health. Victory!

Second, I had dinner in front of them. I feel a little weird and embarrassed to share this, but eating with people who aren’t my husband continues to be a bit of a stumbling block for me. Even if it’s a problem that I’m determined to fix, this hang-up frustrates me to no end. C’mon, stupid brain! Catch up with me! Now that I’m so much more functional, I’ve become very uncomfortably aware that not consuming food in the company of others is holding me back, keeping me in a past that I’ve been diligently working toward leaving behind. I’ve thus been making an extremely conscious effort to bite the bullet (or, in this case, the pot roast) and get over my irrational beliefs, which are in more or less equal parts attributable to OCD and to anorexia. Every success is empowering.

Relatedly, I was clear-headed enough to learn a few knitting techniques and retain the information. Who’d have thought that consistently good nutrition and markedly fewer seizures could have such positive cognitive effects?

And then came the standing.

I’ve been transferring with relative independence for a few months now, but since it’s still not safe for me to walk more than a little, I haven’t really tested those particular waters. While getting ready for bed on Wednesday night, though, I realized only after pausing mid-transfer, waiting for my husband to bring me something, that I was waiting mid-transfer—standing, with the aid of my walker—for my husband to bring me something. I did it naturally, almost without thinking. Arguably not the wisest or safest move, but an affirming one nonetheless.

The more moments like these I have, the more often I take a step back, whether figuratively or literally, and reflect on how I’ve improved since being discharged, the more I appreciate the extent to which I’m regaining independence, taking back control, and choosing to live in accordance with my values and goals.

Thanks for cheering me on.