Sometimes, when I’m walking inside the device in my room, doing my arm exercises on the bench, or just lying in bed and staring at the green leaves and the bit of blue sky behind them (which unfailingly brings back memories of the early times of my discharge, when I would spend most of my time doing precisely that), the same questions come to my mind: in three years, when I allegedly will be able to walk, move my left arm and hand, and articulate and swallow, how well will I be able to do all these things? Will my fingers move with some difficulty? Will I be walking slowly? Will listeners have to pay a lot of attention to catch traces of slurring in my speech? Will I have to make some effort to swallow? How much will my eyes have to concentrate so that I can stab pieces of meat with my fork? And these questions bring along yet another one: Is there a longing for the pre-injury past that’s lurking behind them?
Recently, Eric played a rock song on YouTube, and its rhythm immediately made me want to dance. So, I asked him to pass my left arm around his waist, passed my right as well, and started swaying my torso. And right away, a thought came to my mind: two years from now, I wouldn’t be able to let my body move to the music if I were walking with a cane.
I’ve already mentioned my nostalgia for the “old me.” It seems that it comes in different flavors, no matter how much I try to look ahead instead of back. When I appear in my dreams, I’m always walking freely. I catch myself looking enviously at women who are wearing a dress or a skirt and talking about the store where they bought it. As I’m trying to dry my hair with my right hand when my nurse aid is helping me shampoo and condition my hair, I picture myself before the injury, when I used to dry it with both hands. And on, and on, and on…
But I need to stop looking back. Instead, I must pick up the shattered pieces of my body and brain and reconstruct them based on my unfulfilled fantasies. Maybe, if my past is lost, I’ll have more freedom to build the “me” that I actually want.
Recently, Eric played a rock song on YouTube, and its rhythm immediately made me want to dance. So, I asked him to pass my left arm around his waist, passed my right as well, and started swaying my torso. And right away, a thought came to my mind: two years from now, I wouldn’t be able to let my body move to the music if I were walking with a cane.
I’ve already mentioned my nostalgia for the “old me.” It seems that it comes in different flavors, no matter how much I try to look ahead instead of back. When I appear in my dreams, I’m always walking freely. I catch myself looking enviously at women who are wearing a dress or a skirt and talking about the store where they bought it. As I’m trying to dry my hair with my right hand when my nurse aid is helping me shampoo and condition my hair, I picture myself before the injury, when I used to dry it with both hands. And on, and on, and on…
But I need to stop looking back. Instead, I must pick up the shattered pieces of my body and brain and reconstruct them based on my unfulfilled fantasies. Maybe, if my past is lost, I’ll have more freedom to build the “me” that I actually want.
RSS Feed
