They say you should stay in the moment, but what if it’s the moment that’s giving you trouble? This moment, and the one coming, and the one after that? This has been the thought pinging through my head over the last weeks. Eventually, I settled on simply trying to empty my head. Which has been surprisingly effective in terms of mental management. Even though reaching for meaning is a natural (and often beneficial) tendency, overreach also clearly has to be guarded against. And maybe this is what the zen challenge of the moment is really about. Not so much learning how to stay in it as how to tune in when necessary, and desired, and then how to tune out, and float through.
Herewith, then, a largely factual update.
Three and half months after the fall, my hip was still pretty painful at the bottom of the giraffe motion I use to get up, creating an irresolvable impasse. I need to keep moving and pushing to regain strength, but I can’t risk doing further damage. There was thus eventually no choice but to go for a CT scan, which showed another crushed vertebra – this time L2.
On the one hand, relief. I was getting paranoid about the idea of damage to the plates and pins already in the hip and the possible need for a hip replacement. On the other, ugh. The idea of two crushed lower disks is disconcerting. The first happened in 2010, and it was a big deal. It took a long, long time to recover fully, and my general mobility – especially the ability to stoop – was never quite the same.
All in all, though, the relief wins. Our surgeon gave us the usual gentle rolled eyebrows and instructions to carry on as we see fit: keep moving, but also pay attention to the pain. Wait for it to resolve, which it will.
Two weeks earlier, we had been back to the neurologist for the next progress report, which the medical aid now requires every three months. Having prepped him thoroughly with descriptions of the fall and the dramatic strength loss, all three of us were eyebrows up at the fact there are still improvements happening – in the same areas: shoulders, wrists, ankles.
Not for the first time, cognitive dissonance. A clash between fall-induced immobility and treatment-powered gains. Like most of us, I like to have a generally clear idea of who I am, physically. What my range is, so to speak. Right now, though, I am again two people. Regardless, the summary view is as follows: we have recovered much of the lost strength, but there is still a long way to go to get a peek at the pre-fall baseline. And each gain is only claimed through brutal, unglamorous effort that takes a creeping toll on the other body parts forced to compensate. Elbows, shoulder blades, forearms. Etc.
Interestingly, since taking over the reauthorisation from the NGO I seem to have established a coherent process relationship with the person managing Ex Gratia applications for the medical aid. The application is in, my medical report has been received, and so have the necessary financials. It looks like this time we’ll get a decision well before the juice runs out in December.
As for what it all means, well… we’ll get to that a little later. Perhaps.