I haven't posted for a while (yet again), and I must admit that (due to deadlines) I was on the verge of skipping another day among many, until I received a very sweet message from an equally sweet friend. He expressed his disappointment, as a fellow blogger, at the lack of updates this month - especially as I was at home for most of it and subsequently doing lots of physio and 'training'. This, alongside the realisation that I've somehow reached Day 360, motivated me to give myself enough time amidst essays to blog tonight. I won't, however, give you much of an update - not because I haven't had all sorts of exciting experiences in the remainder of this April - rather because I've got so many important topics clamouring for attention in my brain that I know I won't do them justice if I write them now, jostling as they are with final essays.
The air I'm breathing at the moment, as I approach the first anniversary of my mission (if not quite this blog), has been feeling crackly - crackly with tension, anticipation, fear and joy - as though its individual and usually disparate particles were about to collide and cause a great deal of havoc. Unspecified havoc, neither particularly positive nor particularly negative, but havoc nonetheless. It's fractious - hence the title today. That, though, is a double entendre (albeit one without any raunchy connotations) because I was right - there was havoc brewing.
On Friday, I had a little outing to A&E, with a very sore ankle - and it soon became clear, following a couple of xrays, that I had a hairline fracture (see the titular pun now?). How this came about is hilarious (at least to someone with my wry and twisted sense of humour) because it had nothing whatsoever to do with me. It would appear that not only can I, being a (currently) non-ambulant girl, procure 'runner's injuries' and the afflictions of a 'marching soldier' as I have in the past; I can also fracture my ankle by someone else lifting it up in exactly the same way that they always do.
Since I'm fine, comfortable, and can still stand for transfers, the only possible response is to laugh. We have no idea when it happened and the only treatment is a combination of tubigrip and good sense. So I'll chalk this one up to experience, add it to the list for the sitcom I'm going to have to get round to writing, and take it as a sign that often a choice of word to describe the atmosphere can turn out to be all too apt. I felt fractious and I fractured. Ha. How's that for cosmic foreshadowing?
Tuesday, 30 April 2013
Thursday, 11 April 2013
Day 341 - motion sickness
I woke up this morning feeling rather nauseous, something that hasn't been around for a good while. (Important Note: once again, no, I'm not pregnant.)
Great way to start a blog post, hey? Sorry - and you'll be wondering what on earth this has to do with my mission. I'll endeavour to elucidate. A few posts back (in my snow post) I wrote about the speed at which physical improvements have been occurring - and how I'm coping with them, along with the periods of time when physical work isn't possible, because it seems it's either one or the other of these two extremes with little or no middle ground. This post is about the former - the speed at which things have been happening since I've been home for the holidays.
I appear to have been making some rather radical changes over these last four weeks. For the most part they're not likely to be noticed by people other than those who work most closely with me, although some will be, but that doesn't make them any less radical. The thing is, my whole approach to my physicality and the way I move is different. Whether a switch has flicked, neurons are firing in a new way, or something else has happened, I don't know. All I can say, like the true musical theatre geek I am, is 'something has changed within me'. I think it might be a continuation of my newfound ability to notice (finally!) and to celebrate my body as it is, and all the wonderful things it (and any relatively healthy body) is able to do - like breathe, pump blood through my veins, and be alive. But I'm not sure. Whatever it is, it's wonderful - and it's caused such a fundamental shift that my vestibular system is all over the place, as though I'm being repeatedly knocked off balance.
But I don't mind feeling sick as a result, because I'm learning to read my body's signs, so I'm viewing this nausea as just another reminder that I'm on the right track. If it happens again tomorrow I'll try my best to smile - it simply means I'm in motion.
Great way to start a blog post, hey? Sorry - and you'll be wondering what on earth this has to do with my mission. I'll endeavour to elucidate. A few posts back (in my snow post) I wrote about the speed at which physical improvements have been occurring - and how I'm coping with them, along with the periods of time when physical work isn't possible, because it seems it's either one or the other of these two extremes with little or no middle ground. This post is about the former - the speed at which things have been happening since I've been home for the holidays.
I appear to have been making some rather radical changes over these last four weeks. For the most part they're not likely to be noticed by people other than those who work most closely with me, although some will be, but that doesn't make them any less radical. The thing is, my whole approach to my physicality and the way I move is different. Whether a switch has flicked, neurons are firing in a new way, or something else has happened, I don't know. All I can say, like the true musical theatre geek I am, is 'something has changed within me'. I think it might be a continuation of my newfound ability to notice (finally!) and to celebrate my body as it is, and all the wonderful things it (and any relatively healthy body) is able to do - like breathe, pump blood through my veins, and be alive. But I'm not sure. Whatever it is, it's wonderful - and it's caused such a fundamental shift that my vestibular system is all over the place, as though I'm being repeatedly knocked off balance.
But I don't mind feeling sick as a result, because I'm learning to read my body's signs, so I'm viewing this nausea as just another reminder that I'm on the right track. If it happens again tomorrow I'll try my best to smile - it simply means I'm in motion.
Friday, 5 April 2013
Day 335 - a digression, but a related one
This morning the UK woke up to the article you can find here. Now, I view this blog purely as a space to document my progress towards my goal, and consequently try not to veer off topic too frequently, if at all, particularly in relation to politics. (Although I imagine it's pretty obvious by this point that I'm left-leaning, and not just because of my spinal curvature!) This is why I refrained from penning a post on the recent drastic welfare reforms to which the country has been subjected, however much I may (vehemently) oppose them - because, despite the significant impact the changes will certainly have (and have had) on my lifestyle and on those of the people I care about, they aren't directly relevant to the subject of this blog.
Today, though, I'm going to flout my own rule and add my two-penn'orth to the indignation provoked by the evidence of the article linked above - namely pictures of the Chancellor of the Exchequer, George Osborne, standing next to his chauffeur-driven Land-Rover as it was parked in a disabled parking space. A space which, last time I checked, he had no need for - nor, indeed, any legal right to use. If the former reason (lack of need) was not enough to cause the outrage that it has, then the latter (illegal [mis]use of public property, punishable by fine) ought to be a more than sufficient impetus.
I emphasise the illegality of his actions because they come from a man at whose behest the UK government have recently been taking ordinary Britons, their electorate, to task for living in ways with which they do not agree because they do not find them expedient or economically viable. Housing benefit for some of the most needy and vulnerable people in our society has been cut, along with the introduction of a 'bedroom tax' which will affect tenants of council properties which have spare rooms and are deemed to be underoccupied. (Now, I'm all for efficient use of council housing, but not when it means that families quite within their rights to have an extra room are in danger of being evicted, nor when people with disabilities who require carers or PAs are told that it doesn't count. It means that when I graduate in the summer I won't be able to live independently of my mum, although the flat we currently share is adapted for my needs, because a PA 'could sleep on a sofa-bed in the lounge' and doesn't need a room of their own.) These 'reforms' come at the same time as a large-scale, and quite simply brutal, overhaul of the once-trusted National Health Service on which so many people depend - as well as the abolition of the Disability Living Allowance and its conversion into the less-accessible (but sneakily-named) Personal Independence Plan.
As I've said, I wouldn't normally be so explicit about the impact of changes in legislation on my life, and I don't want to turn this post into a rant. After all, I'm lucky enough to be able to speak, and thereby can at least vocalise the problems I face independently of anyone else - and I'm receiving a university education. I am very privileged in these senses, and wouldn't seek to deny it. My only aim in writing about this today is to highlight how many of my friends who have disabilities, and how many people across the country, have been affected and do not have the support available to do anything about it. For us to see today that the Chancellor of the Exchequer (the man who on the one hand has been praising the potential of our 'aspiration nation' and on the other has been accusing us of cheating the system and wasting money) has so little awareness of the lives of people like us that he parks in a disabled bay, is to have a bucketful of salt chucked in our wounds.
In closing, then, as a young woman with cerebral palsy I have this to say to George Osborne - you want my disabled parking bay, you take my disability, too.
Today, though, I'm going to flout my own rule and add my two-penn'orth to the indignation provoked by the evidence of the article linked above - namely pictures of the Chancellor of the Exchequer, George Osborne, standing next to his chauffeur-driven Land-Rover as it was parked in a disabled parking space. A space which, last time I checked, he had no need for - nor, indeed, any legal right to use. If the former reason (lack of need) was not enough to cause the outrage that it has, then the latter (illegal [mis]use of public property, punishable by fine) ought to be a more than sufficient impetus.
I emphasise the illegality of his actions because they come from a man at whose behest the UK government have recently been taking ordinary Britons, their electorate, to task for living in ways with which they do not agree because they do not find them expedient or economically viable. Housing benefit for some of the most needy and vulnerable people in our society has been cut, along with the introduction of a 'bedroom tax' which will affect tenants of council properties which have spare rooms and are deemed to be underoccupied. (Now, I'm all for efficient use of council housing, but not when it means that families quite within their rights to have an extra room are in danger of being evicted, nor when people with disabilities who require carers or PAs are told that it doesn't count. It means that when I graduate in the summer I won't be able to live independently of my mum, although the flat we currently share is adapted for my needs, because a PA 'could sleep on a sofa-bed in the lounge' and doesn't need a room of their own.) These 'reforms' come at the same time as a large-scale, and quite simply brutal, overhaul of the once-trusted National Health Service on which so many people depend - as well as the abolition of the Disability Living Allowance and its conversion into the less-accessible (but sneakily-named) Personal Independence Plan.
As I've said, I wouldn't normally be so explicit about the impact of changes in legislation on my life, and I don't want to turn this post into a rant. After all, I'm lucky enough to be able to speak, and thereby can at least vocalise the problems I face independently of anyone else - and I'm receiving a university education. I am very privileged in these senses, and wouldn't seek to deny it. My only aim in writing about this today is to highlight how many of my friends who have disabilities, and how many people across the country, have been affected and do not have the support available to do anything about it. For us to see today that the Chancellor of the Exchequer (the man who on the one hand has been praising the potential of our 'aspiration nation' and on the other has been accusing us of cheating the system and wasting money) has so little awareness of the lives of people like us that he parks in a disabled bay, is to have a bucketful of salt chucked in our wounds.
In closing, then, as a young woman with cerebral palsy I have this to say to George Osborne - you want my disabled parking bay, you take my disability, too.
Sunday, 31 March 2013
Day 330 - good news
The events which form the content of today's post actually occurred on Thursday, and I'd planned to blog about them then, but when I didn't have a chance on the day it seemed apt to leave it until this weekend. (In case you hadn't noticed, I like symbols, and although I'm not religious, this is a time of year which has significance for a number of different belief systems in terms of new life and fertility and such things - hence my tweet earlier today wishing my followers a happy Ishtar/Eostre/Easter.)
Now, I'm not pregnant. That is not the news. (Part of me is contemplating putting those previous two statements in ALL OF THE FORMATS [like that] to ensure my grandparents, who are very kindly reading this blog, do not get the wrong idea and an unnecessary shock - but I shall refrain.) No - by my references to 'new life' I mean a new lease of life - because it felt like that was what I got on Thursday. To be fair, these last few weeks at home have been awesome (in its literal sense, because they've filled me with awe [etymology geek alert!]), so it wasn't as though there was this major shift in gear on Thursday. It was more that I felt vindicated in what has occurred for me physically over the last almost-year (eek! How did that happen already!?) - because Thursday was the day of my appointment to talk about the future in terms of my body and medical intervention and things. I was scared. It was huge. I wasn't sure what the outcome would be and especially whether my consultant would share the enthusiasm and positivity I've been feeling about my physical state. It had to encompass graduation and life afterwards and, as a rule, orthopaedic surgeons can be pretty, well, surgery happy.
As things turned out I needn't have worried - not only was he very positive, and impressed with my improvements (and sometimes a little confused, because I shouldn't be able to do certain things that I can. Teehee - he, as well as my physio, knows nothing about this blog - don't tell!) but he was also extremely honest. People in the medical profession, and surgeons in particular, often have a tendency to use every tool of persuasion they have at hand (including, but not limited to, scalpels and latex-free gloves!) - so I was expecting something along those lines, if not quite as dramatic. What I got couldn't have been more different - a reasonable, unaffected discussion about various possible procedures and their implications - and, crucially, the acknowledgement that no of them are (or ever will be) certain to make me better. We even decided that, since everything's going so well at the moment, we'll just stick with what we know will work.
So today's good news is...more botox and no surgery for me! Huzzah!
Now, I'm not pregnant. That is not the news. (Part of me is contemplating putting those previous two statements in ALL OF THE FORMATS [like that] to ensure my grandparents, who are very kindly reading this blog, do not get the wrong idea and an unnecessary shock - but I shall refrain.) No - by my references to 'new life' I mean a new lease of life - because it felt like that was what I got on Thursday. To be fair, these last few weeks at home have been awesome (in its literal sense, because they've filled me with awe [etymology geek alert!]), so it wasn't as though there was this major shift in gear on Thursday. It was more that I felt vindicated in what has occurred for me physically over the last almost-year (eek! How did that happen already!?) - because Thursday was the day of my appointment to talk about the future in terms of my body and medical intervention and things. I was scared. It was huge. I wasn't sure what the outcome would be and especially whether my consultant would share the enthusiasm and positivity I've been feeling about my physical state. It had to encompass graduation and life afterwards and, as a rule, orthopaedic surgeons can be pretty, well, surgery happy.
As things turned out I needn't have worried - not only was he very positive, and impressed with my improvements (and sometimes a little confused, because I shouldn't be able to do certain things that I can. Teehee - he, as well as my physio, knows nothing about this blog - don't tell!) but he was also extremely honest. People in the medical profession, and surgeons in particular, often have a tendency to use every tool of persuasion they have at hand (including, but not limited to, scalpels and latex-free gloves!) - so I was expecting something along those lines, if not quite as dramatic. What I got couldn't have been more different - a reasonable, unaffected discussion about various possible procedures and their implications - and, crucially, the acknowledgement that no of them are (or ever will be) certain to make me better. We even decided that, since everything's going so well at the moment, we'll just stick with what we know will work.
So today's good news is...more botox and no surgery for me! Huzzah!
Monday, 25 March 2013
Day 324 - pics or it didn't happen
I said in my snowblog the other day that things were happening fast, but I didn't realise how fast.
The titular phrase of this post has been a thing on t'interweb for a while. So I'm going to post a picture as proof of what happened today, for two reasons: a) I've taken a teeny-tiny break from work to write this, but can't really allow myself much longer, and b) I'm not sure how to describe it, other than to say it's something I've not done for a while and didn't know if I would again.
Here you go:
I appear to have re-discovered the ladylike aspect of my disposition ;)
The titular phrase of this post has been a thing on t'interweb for a while. So I'm going to post a picture as proof of what happened today, for two reasons: a) I've taken a teeny-tiny break from work to write this, but can't really allow myself much longer, and b) I'm not sure how to describe it, other than to say it's something I've not done for a while and didn't know if I would again.
Here you go:
 |
| Halfway to Lotus position - bring on the yoga! |
Sunday, 24 March 2013
Day 323 - in praise of 'The Lizzie Bennet Diaries'
There is a high probability that I will never meet the group of people behind the project to which this post is dedicated, not least because they live 'across the pond' in America. Nevertheless, readers of this blog who do know me in real life will be aware of my love of Pride and Prejudice - along with the impact the novel has had on my journey to where I am today, planning to walk when I collect my degree certificate this summer - so it seemed important to acknowledge how significant this modern adaptation, The Lizzie Bennet Diaries, has been over the last months in providing an impetus to keep going until I reach my goal.
Before I explain the concept behind the series (affectionately termed The LBD), though, allow me to back-track a little. Growing up with cerebral palsy, and as a wheelchair user, I could not engage with the world in the physical way most of my friends did. Cue reading and, especially, Austen - for whilst I could not experience the feeling of jumping over a stile and getting muddy boots in reality, Lizzy Bennet took me there in my imagination. Equally, when her annoyingly loveable mother, Mrs Bennet, complained hysterically of 'such fluttering and spasms all over', I could laugh in empathy, because my muscles rarely did what they were told to and spasms (real, in my case) were a phenomenon with which I was only too familiar.
Through literature, I found a world in which I could participate on a level playing field with my peers, and the fact that Austen opened that door for me as a young girl is a truly a 'debt that I can never repay', to paraphrase Lizzy. As I got older, surrounded by able-bodied peers, I found ways to make the real world more accessible, as I became more able and independent, thanks to physiotherapy, determination and a tenaciously supportive mother - but reading was always my relief.
Naturally, therefore, when things collapsed for me physically in 2008, aged sixteen, I looked to 'dear Jane' for solace - except I was in such pain from the resurgence of spasms that I couldn't turn pages. I did the next best thing, and alternated marathons of the 1995 mini-series and 2005 film versions of Pride and Prejudice, which somehow got me through studying for my A-Levels and meant I was healthy enough to go to university.
Now, in my final year of English and Theatre Studies at Warwick, I am not only well but well enough to be on a mission to walk to collect my degree (the progress towards which I document on this blog) - and here is where I get back to The LBD. Simply put, I find myself once again indebted to an adaptation of Austen, in this case an especially brilliant series of video-blogs. I mentioned yesterday that during the last term it has been a slog to keep up physical improvement, because of the amount of academic work I've had to do, and this has been one of my fundamental coping mechanisms. Narrated principally by Lizzie Bennet, a post-grad in Mass Communications, the videos form part of her final thesis and detail every aspect of her life, following the plot of Austen's novel (I don't do spoilers, however many centuries a book has been around!). The series, co-created and -directed by Hank Green and Bernie Su, and written and acted by a wonderfully talented ensemble of people, is now nearing its end.
So, since the most recent episode (aside from an adorable Q&A mini-video) is entitled 'Gratitude', I felt I should express mine today. I want to say thank you to the whole team - to Hank and Bernie for the concept; to the writers (especially Kate Noble and Rachel Kiley) for their brilliance and fidelity to Austen (because, despite its contemporary setting, this is my favourite adaptation); to the cast (everyone - you're all fabulous - but especially Ashley Clements as Lizzie) for their passion and commitment to investing their characters with a new vitality; to the crew, for ensuring that every aspect of the production is realistic.
Not only has it been nice to know that it isn't just me who has a huge mountain of degree work to plough through but, as I get closer to my graduation, the videos have helped me realise that I can and will take the (literal!) steps I want to on the day of 'the final exam of my life' (to quote this modern Lizzie). After all, the hills I'm climbing to get there aren't half as unforgiving as those in San Fransisco - and reminder that means a lot.
So thanks, LBD, and congratulations on the well-deserved Kickstarter success - I hope you realise what a difference you've made to all of us viewers.
EDIT: I can't believe I didn't post a link to the videos last night, so here it is. Watch them, they're awesome:
Before I explain the concept behind the series (affectionately termed The LBD), though, allow me to back-track a little. Growing up with cerebral palsy, and as a wheelchair user, I could not engage with the world in the physical way most of my friends did. Cue reading and, especially, Austen - for whilst I could not experience the feeling of jumping over a stile and getting muddy boots in reality, Lizzy Bennet took me there in my imagination. Equally, when her annoyingly loveable mother, Mrs Bennet, complained hysterically of 'such fluttering and spasms all over', I could laugh in empathy, because my muscles rarely did what they were told to and spasms (real, in my case) were a phenomenon with which I was only too familiar.
Through literature, I found a world in which I could participate on a level playing field with my peers, and the fact that Austen opened that door for me as a young girl is a truly a 'debt that I can never repay', to paraphrase Lizzy. As I got older, surrounded by able-bodied peers, I found ways to make the real world more accessible, as I became more able and independent, thanks to physiotherapy, determination and a tenaciously supportive mother - but reading was always my relief.
Naturally, therefore, when things collapsed for me physically in 2008, aged sixteen, I looked to 'dear Jane' for solace - except I was in such pain from the resurgence of spasms that I couldn't turn pages. I did the next best thing, and alternated marathons of the 1995 mini-series and 2005 film versions of Pride and Prejudice, which somehow got me through studying for my A-Levels and meant I was healthy enough to go to university.
Now, in my final year of English and Theatre Studies at Warwick, I am not only well but well enough to be on a mission to walk to collect my degree (the progress towards which I document on this blog) - and here is where I get back to The LBD. Simply put, I find myself once again indebted to an adaptation of Austen, in this case an especially brilliant series of video-blogs. I mentioned yesterday that during the last term it has been a slog to keep up physical improvement, because of the amount of academic work I've had to do, and this has been one of my fundamental coping mechanisms. Narrated principally by Lizzie Bennet, a post-grad in Mass Communications, the videos form part of her final thesis and detail every aspect of her life, following the plot of Austen's novel (I don't do spoilers, however many centuries a book has been around!). The series, co-created and -directed by Hank Green and Bernie Su, and written and acted by a wonderfully talented ensemble of people, is now nearing its end.
So, since the most recent episode (aside from an adorable Q&A mini-video) is entitled 'Gratitude', I felt I should express mine today. I want to say thank you to the whole team - to Hank and Bernie for the concept; to the writers (especially Kate Noble and Rachel Kiley) for their brilliance and fidelity to Austen (because, despite its contemporary setting, this is my favourite adaptation); to the cast (everyone - you're all fabulous - but especially Ashley Clements as Lizzie) for their passion and commitment to investing their characters with a new vitality; to the crew, for ensuring that every aspect of the production is realistic.
Not only has it been nice to know that it isn't just me who has a huge mountain of degree work to plough through but, as I get closer to my graduation, the videos have helped me realise that I can and will take the (literal!) steps I want to on the day of 'the final exam of my life' (to quote this modern Lizzie). After all, the hills I'm climbing to get there aren't half as unforgiving as those in San Fransisco - and reminder that means a lot.
So thanks, LBD, and congratulations on the well-deserved Kickstarter success - I hope you realise what a difference you've made to all of us viewers.
EDIT: I can't believe I didn't post a link to the videos last night, so here it is. Watch them, they're awesome:
Saturday, 23 March 2013
Day 322 - walking in a winter wonderland
Hey, blogsphere, is anyone out there?
I wouldn't be surprised if there weren't any readers left, because my presence here has been somewhat lacking. Not only have I failed to post for almost two months (sorry!) but, in my absence, I missed marking Day 300 of this quest. Shocking and unacceptable. Alas, apparently that's what you get in the final year of your BA - snowed under. So it's nothing short of ironic that today, when I've finally found the time to post, a huge proportion of the UK is experiencing actual snow. In fact, here in London, we can't see out of the skylight in our kitchen.
Anyway, I'm going to extend this instance of simultaneously literal and figurative white stuff into a linguistic device (it's not strictly a metaphor, because it's both fiction and reality) out of which I'll fashion a snow-post, because it's too cold for me to go out and make anything else...and because it's really a very apt description of my life recently.
Over the past few months (which I'll lump together and call 'this term', even though I have posted since it began) I've had a lot of work to do, physically and mentally as well as academically. It's felt at points as if I've been shovelling settled snow whilst there was still more falling - so that, each time I thought there was a little glimpse of progress along the road underneath, further flakes would come and fill that gap. I mean, we've broken up for the holiday now, and I still have 25,000 words to write, most of which are due in the first week of next term. It's been a hard slog, and it's taken its toll on my mind, especially because there hasn't really been time to focus on things other than my course. I've hardly had an opportunity to walk, let alone blog, and that's scared me.
But here's the important (and exciting!) bit - the work, and the break from walking it's entailed, doesn't seem to have affected my body in the way I thought it would. Quite the contrary, actually, because I've not had even the tiniest twinge of sciatica for a good while now. Also, since I've been home I've been getting out and sitting on another chair several times each day, and my standing continues to get stronger and more confident with each transfer. (I can now push myself out of my chair and up to standing with Mama just in front of me for support - I'm not quite stepping on my own after that, yet, but nearly!)
The most fundamental change, though, is in the range of movement of my legs. On Wednesday night I lay on my back and asked for my right leg to be stretched to ease the tension in my hip-flexors, and it was as though my leg grew. That was amazing in itself, of course, but even more so for me was the fact that I could tolerate it. For the greater part of the last five or six years I've only been completely comfortable in a chair-shaped position, or semi-foetal if I'm lying down, so it was a surprise - a very pleasant one.
Then, on Thursday, I had a very spasmy day. This worried me, but with hindsight I think it was just because I gave my muscles a workout they're not used to, and they wanted me to pay for it. Equally it seems that my mind, having been so immersed in work, struggles to keep up with the pace of the changes occurring in my body - so it tries desperately to pull me back into old patterns centred around fear and pain and spasms in order to find some semblance of familiarity.
To this I can only apologise, as I can only apologise to you, dear readers, for not having posted in so long - because this helter-skelter snowfall of change and improvement seems to be worth it. So, sorry, mind, for the confused transition - but thanks, body, for letting me get back to walking today with a view of the snow. Thanks, too, to you readers, for bearing with me through the blizzard. I think the flakes are pointing toward freedom - and I think they're sticking.
I love you. #Walkingby2013
I wouldn't be surprised if there weren't any readers left, because my presence here has been somewhat lacking. Not only have I failed to post for almost two months (sorry!) but, in my absence, I missed marking Day 300 of this quest. Shocking and unacceptable. Alas, apparently that's what you get in the final year of your BA - snowed under. So it's nothing short of ironic that today, when I've finally found the time to post, a huge proportion of the UK is experiencing actual snow. In fact, here in London, we can't see out of the skylight in our kitchen.
Anyway, I'm going to extend this instance of simultaneously literal and figurative white stuff into a linguistic device (it's not strictly a metaphor, because it's both fiction and reality) out of which I'll fashion a snow-post, because it's too cold for me to go out and make anything else...and because it's really a very apt description of my life recently.
Over the past few months (which I'll lump together and call 'this term', even though I have posted since it began) I've had a lot of work to do, physically and mentally as well as academically. It's felt at points as if I've been shovelling settled snow whilst there was still more falling - so that, each time I thought there was a little glimpse of progress along the road underneath, further flakes would come and fill that gap. I mean, we've broken up for the holiday now, and I still have 25,000 words to write, most of which are due in the first week of next term. It's been a hard slog, and it's taken its toll on my mind, especially because there hasn't really been time to focus on things other than my course. I've hardly had an opportunity to walk, let alone blog, and that's scared me.
But here's the important (and exciting!) bit - the work, and the break from walking it's entailed, doesn't seem to have affected my body in the way I thought it would. Quite the contrary, actually, because I've not had even the tiniest twinge of sciatica for a good while now. Also, since I've been home I've been getting out and sitting on another chair several times each day, and my standing continues to get stronger and more confident with each transfer. (I can now push myself out of my chair and up to standing with Mama just in front of me for support - I'm not quite stepping on my own after that, yet, but nearly!)
The most fundamental change, though, is in the range of movement of my legs. On Wednesday night I lay on my back and asked for my right leg to be stretched to ease the tension in my hip-flexors, and it was as though my leg grew. That was amazing in itself, of course, but even more so for me was the fact that I could tolerate it. For the greater part of the last five or six years I've only been completely comfortable in a chair-shaped position, or semi-foetal if I'm lying down, so it was a surprise - a very pleasant one.
Then, on Thursday, I had a very spasmy day. This worried me, but with hindsight I think it was just because I gave my muscles a workout they're not used to, and they wanted me to pay for it. Equally it seems that my mind, having been so immersed in work, struggles to keep up with the pace of the changes occurring in my body - so it tries desperately to pull me back into old patterns centred around fear and pain and spasms in order to find some semblance of familiarity.
To this I can only apologise, as I can only apologise to you, dear readers, for not having posted in so long - because this helter-skelter snowfall of change and improvement seems to be worth it. So, sorry, mind, for the confused transition - but thanks, body, for letting me get back to walking today with a view of the snow. Thanks, too, to you readers, for bearing with me through the blizzard. I think the flakes are pointing toward freedom - and I think they're sticking.
I love you. #Walkingby2013
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