Perils of Pattie: Kissing the Pavement

 

Every so often I decide it’s time to take better care of myself. I probably should have had that conversation with myself about forty years ago, but better late than never, right? RIGHT?!!

I’d mentioned to my primary care physician that I was struggling with grip strength, numbness in my hands, and the delightful nerve pain that comes as a souvenir from three bouts of cancer. Chemo is great at killing cancer cells. It’s also excellent at destroying the protective coverings on your nerves. You get to choose between death or nerve damage; I picked the latter. My doctor suggested physical therapy. I thought, Fine. I don’t get out much anyway (by choice, thank you very much), so this could be good for me.

I contacted the local rehab center and scheduled an evaluation. Imagine my surprise when they informed me they wanted me there five days a week.

Five. Days. A. Week.

 Clearly these people had never met an introvert.

“No,” I told them. “Three days a week, tops. I have limits.”

To make a long story short, it accomplished absolutely nothing except separating me from both my time and my money. My insurance, despite assurances to the contrary, didn’t cover everything. But that’s a story for another day.

 Now we come to the important part.

 Whenever I leave the house, even if it’s just for the grocery store, the post office, or physical therapy, I make an effort to look nice (I put on lipstick to roll the trash can to the curb. I consider it a public service.). I don’t go out often enough to waste the opportunity. Thank goodness I did. I generally try to keep a low profile, but every once in a while I attract attention in the worst possible way.  When I was young, all I had to do was get dressed and I looked fabulous.  These days I don’t get dressed, I get assembled.

On this particular afternoon, I decided to wear a pair of flats that I knew were just a little too big. They were cute, and since no one could pay me enough to wear heels anymore, they seemed like a reasonable choice. They were not.

As I walked out of the rehab center, those shoes staged a full-scale rebellion.

One second I was walking. The next I was kissing the pavement, arms and legs spread out like a baby bird that had fallen from its nest, except this bird was clearly a pterodactyl.

 A man came running over, all concern and chivalry, asking if I was all right.  

No, kind sir, I am not all right. I am mortified. I am humiliated. Please vacate the premises immediately so I can crawl into my car and disappear. I'll check for compound fractures later.

He was only trying to help, bless him. But all I wanted was to be left alone with my dignity (what was left of it). The surprising part? I popped back up off that pavement faster than I’ve moved in years. Adrenaline is a hell of a drug.

The whole episode did teach me something, though. As much as I hate admitting it, I really do need to take better care of myself. So I decided to return to something I used to do faithfully every morning: yoga. I've always enjoyed Rodney Yee’s yoga routines (despite the fact that Rodney himself is a bit of a scoundrel),  and years ago I could move through them without much trouble.

 Apparently my body has been making executive decisions over the last eighteen months without consulting me.

Getting down on the floor wasn’t too bad. Getting back up?

Let’s just say it was less of a graceful ascent and more of a carefully negotiated treaty with gravity.

I can still get down on the floor. I test this every day just to be sure, because if I can’t, who’s coming to rescue me? The poses, however, nearly killed me.

Everything feels tighter, weaker, and more uncooperative than it used to. Am I going to stop? Absolutely not. I’m going to keep going, even if it’s begrudgingly. I know it’s good for me. I know I’ll be glad I did it. In the meantime, I’d better stock up on Aleve and keep my expectations low.

 Here’s to progress—one wobbly warrior pose at a time.

This story is part of my series Life on Planet Pattie, about the foibles of life, resilience, and the occasional furniture-moving adventure. It appears the first Monday of every month.

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