Getting Real

I find that the challenge of walking, with my right leg and foot flopping without intention (characterized by inattention), presents a level of frustration that ignites my right hand into a tremulous frenzy. When alone, I simply focus on the destination and call that tremulous hand any number of not so friendly names. When in public, I try squeezing my hand as though holding a rubber ball or stick my hand in my pocket. I recognize self-consciousness as embarrassment when in public. Often my anger builds at having to deal with this stuff. Seems the simplest things sometimes turn into major physical challenges. Turn too quickly and I can lose my balance (no falls yet) or seemingly trip over my own foot when not consciously focusing on picking it up. The rationality of the anger is one to be questioned, but the reality of its frequency gives me pause to accept that it is a part of the process. The more I walk, the more I walk; meaning there is no significant improvement resulting from distance walking. I attempt walking a good distance every day to keep myself from becoming sedate in the comfort of my recliner as I type away. Walking is often painful, but I am thankful for a few doses of anti-inflammatory pain relievers that help diminish the pain in walking. By evening my legs have been consumed by a throbbing ache that is often more inconvenient that downright painful. I find it irritating and often experience fits of anger over this as well. After all, aren’t I supposed to be experiencing the best of retirement, pain free, flexible, nimble, and quick as a bunny?  I guess that is the other movie I was supposed to star in! Don’t take yourself so seriously, Tom!

Sometimes bouts of anger subside to periods (brief) of melancholy. I don’t call it depression because it doesn’t hurt, doesn’t feel lost or hopeless, just sad. A statement someone makes about a life challenge, a victory won, or a life lost may send me into an emotional sobbing mess. I’ve learned to go with this flow as well, truly believing “this too shall pass.” In many ways, this thing called PD has helped me grow up in a way I might never have done without her. She has in some ways made me stronger and in others more vulnerable. Both experiences are real, raw, and revealing. Today, I am okay!