Our wonderful neighbors have been taking our dog for his long morning walk since my accident. This is a huge investment of their time, as the little squirt isn’t happy unless he’s been out for an hour or so. He doesn’t understand that they’re doing this as a favor and that they both have jobs. What he does understand is that his walk has arrived.
He’s even showing signs of being able to tell time. One morning recently, at ten minutes before the appointed hour, he plopped himself down in front of the door to wait. He still barks when Cory or Tanya or both show up, but it’s the sound of an excited dog trying to hurry a family member or favorite friend into the house. Lest there be any doubt about the place our neighbors hold in Rascal’s heart, the second day Tanya came over to walk him, he leapt into her arms.
For the last few days, Rascal’s been trying to get me to take him for a walk. I haven’t been using a walker anymore. Most of the time, I don’t even use a cane. The dog seems to think that, if there’s no outrigger involved, I’m good to go. After all, I’m playing with him again. Granted, it takes more cooperation from him than he’s generally prepared to offer. He lets me take his toy from him so I’ll toss it for him. Normally, he makes me wrest it from his mouth and, when he chases it down, leads me a merry chase up the sofa, around the house, and under the dining room table. “I’m so much faster and more agile than you are!” he likes to chortle. “I’m so glad I’m a dog and not a human! No offense.”
With increasing mobility, I’m getting more in touch with my environment again. The amaryllises Carol and Paul gave us for Christmas, for instance, are in a room I didn’t even go into for quite a while. They are still putting forth magnificent red blossoms. And, based on how many old flowers needed to be tidied up, the flowering never stopped. The plants remind me of the kind of fireworks that explode over and over and over, bursting into a new display with every bang. My best estimate is that these two bulbs have produced over thirty flowers.
Yesterday’s surprise was a white songbird. Songbirds don’t generally come in white. Yet there one was, out in the yard, high up on one of the maples. Needless to say, I kept watching it. The bird was nimble and neat. It was also a perfectly normal nuthatch, I realized, as it walked down the tree trunk headfirst. I’d just been looking at the bird’s snowy underside.
Today is terrifically windy. Cory mentioned this morning when he collected Rascal that Nebraska, Cory and Tanya’s home state, is almost this windy on a daily basis. Anne didn’t grow up in Nebraska, and she suggested we take our planned walk indoors, to the conservatory of the University of Michigan’s botanical gardens. What an excellent idea. It’s been years since I’ve visited the conservatory, as it closed along with everything else at the beginning of the pandemic.
It was, as always, a pleasure to experience. It’s lovely, it’s warm, parts of it are humid and parts arid, and it smells like earth and plants. Here and there, the air is downright fragrant, as many plants are blooming, from desert dwellers to tropicals. A stroll through the conservatory is generally a tranquil affair. Today, not so much.
The place was full of excited children and their families: area schools are on spring break. I enjoy children and their enthusiasms. I enjoyed these children and their enthusiasms. I was also a bit anxious around them. I kept my cane deployed where it would be useful were I jostled, and it was, when I was. No harm, no foul. All the same, it was a relief when we moved to parts of the building in which children have little interest.
I’m more fearful since the accident than before it. I worry more about the weather. Is it slippery out? Is there enough wind to knock me off balance? I’m not moving quickly yet and doubt my ability to compensate fast enough. By all assessments—my own and those of physical therapist, family, and friends, my body is making a speedy recovery since the accident. Confidence, however, seems to be a lagging indicator. At any given time, I’m not sure enough of my latest abilities to rely on them. Lost trust is hard to regain.
1 April 2022
Today is April 26 and I just rediscovered your blogs! How fun! I started at the most recent and then worked backwards as I realized you were in a recovery process and I didn’t know what you were recovering from! What a surprise to find out you had fallen and to read your story. I talked to Uncle Ed a couple of weeks ago, maybe a couple of times. Your phone didn’t seem to be working. When I sent my love he likely thought I knew about the accident. I’m so glad you were in an area where a passerby could notice you. It’s always strange to find out someone has experienced some kind of trauma AFTER the main part of the trauma is over, but on the other hand, I’m so glad I found that the story has a happy ending (or progression) of recovery, before I even knew there was anything to recover from! Greetings to my cousins! I’m enjoying your blog. Thank you for sharing.