Down, down, down.


The simplest of things: making arrangements to spend some time with family this weekend. We decided to go see Bil, Sil, and GingerBabe on Saturday. Planned to go while GingerBabe was napping so Snort and Coconut could get some quality time with their aunt and uncle, and then we could hang with GingerBabe when she woke up.

Then Sil suggested we all go to the park together.

It all crashed in on me: I don’t feel like I’m getting any better. I can’t walk more than five minutes at a time, on a good day. (I should mention I’m okay with little bursts of walking, non-consecutively.) We went to the store for like ten minutes a couple of days ago and my back is cracking in and out of place, so loud it’s like gunshots – or it seems that way to me.

I have a friend who has offered me her spare wheelchair. I have avoided measuring my ass to see if I will fit, because I don’t want to need a wheelchair. I want to be able to walk again. That’s what I fucking want: a body that functions.

So then I was thinking in the shower about how I’d have to tell Sil we couldn’t go to the park, and I realised they have their bathroom upstairs. And I can’t climb stairs. Can’t, can’t, can’t. I felt embarassed and like I needed TMD to call her for me, to explain this all away, to lightly brush over the fact that I’ve had this ‘little problem’ for about fourteen or fifteen months now and it doesn’t seem to be going away.

Then I thought, no, I’m the fucked up one. The one who can’t walk, who sometimes has to stand frozen in place until her back SI joint snaps into place and her leg can move again, the one who cannot put weight on her right foot. I’m the one who is virtually housebound. I’m the one who experiences such joy from tiny trips out, and then when I stop and think about these trips on a night like tonight, all joy is replaced by a bleak, dark, hopeless feeling.

Because being able to walk two minutes, and then sit for an hour to rest, and then walk two more minutes is hardly a reason to rejoice.

Ugh. Sorry to sound so self-pitying, but if I really let loose with how I am feeling, there would be a lot more blame, confusion, anger, fear. Lots and lots of fear.

The end.


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7 Responses to “Down, down, down.”

  1. Katie B. Says:


  2. Diane Says:

    So much I wish I could say, but words fail me. I will simply say that you are in my thoughts, and I hope for nothing more than for you to feel whole again. Much love to you.

  3. Jenni Williams Says:

    oh hun, I know the pain you are in. I destroyed my knee, I am not sure I will ever be the same. It’s so hard.
    The bottom line is you are still an awesome wife and mother! You will get better. It’s just going to take time.

  4. @WannabeMomErin Says:


  5. Della Says:

    I’m sorry.

    I’m sorry it sucks and that there is no end in sight.

    As much as this is probably assvice and may not be well received in the current mood – the wheelchair might at least make possible some trips to help boost your mood. Yeah, you’re not getting to walk around, and you’re not strengthening yourself by using it, but you’re also not hurting yourself worse, but it could assist you out of being homebound.

    I’m sure you know all that and I realize that your post was to vent the panicked feelings you’re having, the feeling that getting a wheelchair would be to give up on getting better right away… and possibly at all. I’m not trying to take away from your need to scream, especially since I would be screaming, myself, in your shoes.

    At the same time, I hope, even though it’s not want you want and it isn’t even going to contribute towards what you want, that you’re able to borrow the chair and use it.

    I hope you get to go to the park.

  6. Winnie Says:

    lots of looooove

  7. catsandcradles Says:

    First of all, *hugs*.

    Secondly, here’s the thing I was thinking about this (finally!) sunny morning, when life was (finally!) feeling much brighter than is has in a couple of weeks, at least. I was thinking about faith. Not the Jesus-y kind (although if that’s what gets you through the day, I don’t object). But the kind of faith that tells you, even in the midst of the worst flu, when you can’t quite imagine or remember what it’s like to feel well, that things will get better. And they will. You’re totally within your rights to weep and wail and gnash your teeth over this. Gods know I probably would. It sucks; it’s painful and awful and unfair. All of these things are true.

    These things are also true: You are a strong, resourceful, and resilient person. You are a wonderful wife and mother, with a wonderful wife and children. There are a lot of people rooting for you, people close to you and people oceans and continents away. You will come through this, and you will be stronger for having done so. I have great faith in you.

    In the meantime, it’s going to suck, and I’m sorry. Sending you all the love and hugs and healing vibes and bagels and biscuits in the world.

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