Friday, November 2, 2007
Condensed water vapour.
These days, I have a great deal of sympathy for the slowness of the elderly. I wince getting up, and have to balance carefully, and stumble easily. I watch their patterns of careful movement, and see them mirrored in myself.
Since I've had to start putting my weight solely on my left foot, the arthritis in it has gone from annoying but ignorable to intensely painful, and I've had to face the fact that it's not likely to improve too much. We've started looking around for lighter wheelchairs than my current monstrosity, and I've developed a 2-a-day opiate habit to make life bearable.
I'm mourning a lot of things - no more long, rambling walks through my suburb, or random diversions to explore cool things I see around the place. No more bushwalks, or ambling shopping trips. Even sitting at my desk is turning into an endurance exercise - I'll need to work out an alternative very soon. I count the cost of every step I take, and many things I used to enjoy just aren't worth the pain.
Still, on my hop home today, I sat in the park on the still-wet grass, and took pictures of the clouds and the raindrops on the roses. In the end, we make our worlds inside us, and I'll do my best to meet mine with serenity.