Anticipation

It's been more than a few months since I've posted to this blog.  I suppose I had a fantasy of sharing a miraculous story after a few months of starting physical therapy, that I was walking unassisted--no wheelchair or other apparatuses to keep me upright.  But time is what I need; I know this.  My ankle surgery was invasive and painful, and the legs need major strengthening. Cosmetics now have a place outside of my consciousness, as I no longer care about the scares that decorate my ankles and legs--I simply long for function. 

Last week, as I lay on the mat ready to begin my physical therapy session, Carly Simon's song "Anticipation"  played on the radio nearby. Her lyrics resonated with how I feel. While painstakingly moving through each motion, in an effort to regain balance and stability, the words carried a message.  "So much effort and energy goes into anticipating, I recalled.  I'm constantly anticipating when this or that will happen; it's exhausting."  The mental struggle sent a tear down my cheek.  The taste of salt was a subtle reminder of how much water I have retained in my body.  But somehow my crying felt joyful; a renewed life surged through me as I counted each repetition with resolve.

We can never know about the days to come
But we think about them anyway

Anticipation, anticipation
Is makin' me late
Is keepin' me waitin'

I receive a modicum of change that says I'm improving with each session.  I hang on every positive word of reinforcement from my physical therapist like a child: Good job, your legs are getting stronger, great session.  I focus on the goal, the outcome, of where I want to be--hesitant to give myself a date.  The legs are being re-educated; the hip flexors and abductors forgot what they are designed to do.  Each day provides nuances of change in my legs; and my ankles hold up a body which weighs considerably more than when all this started.

I don't know about the days to come, but for now I'm celebrating those small accomplishments that lead to bigger ones.  For instance, I can now pedal on a stationery bike for about 20 minutes.  This exercise alone helps with strength and proprioception.  I've increased the amount of reps of each exercise I do, too.  And my surgeon is quite pleased with my progress. I was happy to show off on my walker even if it was for just a few minutes of methodical walking.  Oh, and I bought my first pair of flats (ballerina type shoes) and wore them to work.  It was the first time, in two years, I could slip on a pair shoes without braces and all the other little gadgets I once stuffed into my shoes for comfort.

Anticipation.  Its very definition means expectation or hope: I have both.  I expect to walk, it's the waiting for that day, when I let go--get up and out of the chair that I have to work on.  As Carly sings, "I'm no prophet and I don't know nature's ways," I sense calm, resilience,and, agreement, that these are the "good ole days". Going through the process now--living in the present--will bring reflection later on of just how far I've come.  As both the song and I fade away (me, from my workout), a vow is promised to keep the Faith while "waitin" for the next step to emerge from me.
Thanks Carly for prompting me to write again.