This morning, I walked away from my walker without realizing it. I did not return to it immediately. It was a bit of freedom. Why not take it?
Mine is a two-room apartment so this was not a walk for distance or duration but it was a walk with an actual gait. I focused on each step, sensing a rhythm.
Is that what a blur on an x-ray might bring? Rhythm? Is that what “teeny” fusing of donor bone with my vertebrae feels like? I’ve been here before, too aware that such a blur may be in the eye of the beholder.
A year and a half ago it seemed my neck was healing after C2-C4 fusion surgery, only to be later told later no healing was taking place. The neck is the “piece of real estate” that controls my limbs; daily, basic yoga helps me work with the signals they send me.
In all ways, this feels a matter of nerve. Do I have what it takes to believe again? Is that what hope is? I don’t think any one thing–like an x-ray–can give me hope any more than one person can take it from me.
It is mine to give or not to take. Hope is always available. In every moment, I’m given yet another perspective on the obstacle that is my path. In this moment, it is a blur on an x-ray.
It is not a matter of “getting my life back” for this is my life, this moment right here. I don’t want to miss a moment of it. So, in the early light of this morning, I walked.
As Emily Dickinson wrote, “if your nerve deny you— go above your nerve.” It is yours for the taking.