I Feel Good Today

And I really do – I feel good today. I’m getting by on just non-prescription pain meds and really not feeling much more pain than before. What’s more, I finally slept 8 whole hours without having to take pills or eat yet another banana along with pills. Yay for sleep!

I actually did work for most of the morning – like the kind I get paid for – with only brief intermissions to watch the Tour de France. Great stage today; so inspiring to see two well-matched competitors push one another and come out equal.

So this afternoon I’m hoping for a wheelchair walk with Michael, a little physical therapy in front of a Netflix selection, and who knows…maybe I’ll feel like reading something. What I really feel like doing is cleaning, but alas, I need to not push it too much. Must. Be. Good. For. 8. More. Days.

A couple more thoughts:

My grandma, Palma Hanson, spent the last several years of her life in a nursing home, and the staff there commented about how she always liked to look nice. She didn’t want to wear dumpy sweatpants just because she wasn’t going out on the town. When she had nice clothes on, a bit of makeup, her hair freshly done, she felt good.

I can so relate. There is basically zero possibility that I will see anyone but Michael today, and my wardrobe options are a bit limited at the time. Elastic waists and loose legs only, for now. And non-underwire bras, although my cracked / separated / whatever rib is feeling quite a bit better at this point. But it still matters to me that my clothes match, that I’m not wearing a fuchsia top with red shorts, because it’s not Valentine’s Day. This is unfortunate for Michael, as I’m constantly sending him on wild goose chases for “that grey zip-front sweatshirt…or if not that, another gray sweatshirt.” I’m sure he goes upstairs and thinks, “Why can’t she just be content with the green one, since that’s the ONLY one that’s in the spot she told me to look.” It doesn’t help that July 5th was going to be my Stay Home and Get My Poop In A Group Day. Because since I didn’t have that day, we started this whole affair a bit less than organized. And I think there are some idiosynchracies to my clothing organization that defy reasonable logic…but they make sense to me…

And finally, I accompanied Michael to his dentist’s appointment yesterday but decided to sit across the street at a Bruegger’s instead of sit in the car. (I couldn’t get up the stairs to the waiting room, and the building didn’t have an elevator.) I used my walker instead of my wheelchair, which I think makes people even more uncomfortable. I’m a young woman, in reasonable shape, with no obvious injuries – no cast, no visible bruises – who is inching along in a walker. (A walker with a water bottle cage and bike handlebar bag, at that.) And even though I do try to wear clothes that don’t overtly clash, I do still look a little disheveled and spacey.

I got a look at myself reflected in the glass door on the way into Bruegger’s, and my first thought was, “Ugh.” But I am kind of used to looking a little different from the mainstream – like when I’m hobbling around a convenience store in my cycling cleats trying to find a restroom, or when I used to deliver vegetables in farm-fresh, very muddy clothes on rainy days. I get a little kick out of making people wonder. So I ordered my beverage and smiled at the kids who were trying not to stare at me. I even asked one of them to put my book on a different table for me, so her family could have more room. These are very small things, but I was proud that I wasn’t embarrassed. Because different is good.

Thanks for reading,everyone, and for the nice comments. I’m so fortunate to have so many good people in my life. 🙂

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About solveighanson

I'm a (late) thirtysomething Plant Breeding Ph.D. student, daughter / sister / auntie, vegetable fan, yogi, sometime cyclist, and enthusiastic if infrequent baker. I started this blog in the summer of 2010 to trace my recovery from a pelvic fracture sustained in a cycling accident. That healing process was truly transformative, and since then I seem to have written mostly about the transformations that have followed. And hence the title of the blog: Don't call me a butterfly, because I'm not done changing.
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