Etc

I've been struggling a bit with health challenges - mainly, and sadly, much pain, some of it completely baffling me. I couldn't even lie down yesterday, I had to sleep in my recliner.

I talked to other elders today about the pain we know and the unexpected pains we get which seem unrelated to medication shifts.

The two of them produced evidence of similar episodes which vanish after a couple of days.

I've never seen it written about before. Aging body ambulation's suddenly seizing and flattening with surprising outbursts of unexpected aches and near immobility. Some so severe that walking is impossible, along with, like myself yesterday, not allowing even a lying down.

Living with the unfamiliar.

Today is better, the mysterious crippling lurch not as severe.

I am managing a pile of editing today as we have a deadline for June 30th for The Big Finito for publishing the latest anthology sometime in July. 

I am playing Bach on one of those five hours streams which fills me with gratitude. And a kind of reluctant joy.

Iceberg Season is here and here is one pic from yesterday.

And this is right by where I live, a village right in the City of St. John's by the name of Qidi Vidi - photo courtesy of Jonathan Cooper. Fog can be a glorious sight.

Crossing the Rubicon

I really don't know how some surmount challenges more easily than others. I'm not that kind of person. At least I don't think I am. Others often tell me that I have surmounted many challenges in my life, that I'm tough, that I enjoy thinking through solutions to perceived barriers, that I like to solve puzzles.

I was feeling rather hopeless yesterday, all the more so because the weather was glorious and there were scads of people out around the lake that I overlook. A gorgeous spot with peeks at the ocean from the walkway around it. Sunlight sparkling on the water, the ducks doing that water-skiing thing, skimming over the water. Especially those dazzling males. Dear blog, I drove down to the parking lot nearest the doggie park and I sat and watched the dogs and I cried. Like a fool. I couldn't stop. Ansa and I had walked around that lake so many times and I'd bring her into the doggie park and she'd make a few ventures out to the other dogs, half-heartedly play-bow and then come back to me, content to sit and watch the other dogs. A Mummy's girl as other dog owners often commented, some quite enviously. The loss of her overwhelmed me for a while. I tried to bite it all down but that made it worse.

So today, I drove down there again, 11c (52F) out. Seriously, we've had this freakish warm winter, very little snow. And I took my stick and walked. And yes it hurt, it's supposed to, but I managed 1,500 steps. And I felt part of and not distant from all the activity around me. And there was so much: dogs, elders, babies, wheelchairs, everybody smiling and greeting and revelling in this glorious sunshine. And so very many dogs, one woman had 5, all beautifully trained. And I didn't cry once.

I still don't know what got me out there, to be part of this mobile human race, it was like, maybe being fanciful, the spirit of Ansa nudging me, pushing me. I was ready to give up on these legs. On myself. Overwhelmed doesn't quite capture it.

And Blog, it wasn't as bad as I thought. I stopped twice to give the legs a bit of a nap and then moved on. And I had the thought: I can increase this, not by much, not so I feel defeated and hopeless, but even an extra 50 steps a day?

Yeah, that's manageable.

How do you surmount perceived barriers or challenges?