discomfort
A restless evening, an aching morning, and a reflective mood give pause to ponder the loss of some stamina. Sitting firmly in the throes of lost muscular flexibility and energy, I grieve the times of physical fitness and agility that I took for granted. The gym was a ten minute walk to the subway, discovering the ancient landmarks of Rome was a day long stroll through the eternal city, and a five block walk was a snap of a journey. Now, a stroll through the grocery store is enhanced by the cart on which I hang as I am reminded step by step of the resistance from muscles and nerves these days. Sometimes, I curse the pain, as though it were the enemy of my desire to do all things expediently. The thought that “it could be worse,” though true, is not helpful. At the moment of recognition of the pain, I find calling it what it is, PAIN, unwelcomed, unwanted, unmitigated, to help the process of grieving the lost, left then to embrace the remaining! What is the remaining? Discomfort, but not disability; distaste for medication, but not for its outcome; and discovery of what may be possible even if the discomfort gets worse. Occasionally I am tempted to throw a pity party with the honored guests being my pride, my ego, my grief, and my dearly beloved self-centeredness. I tried it a couple of times, but found the guests boring and without any substance. I’ve since dismantled my party platform in favor of a soapbox.