Sometimes we say, “I’m falling apart,” or joke, “I’m like a car losing one part, then another!” But let’s be honest—that ship has sailed. My fifth fall on April 5th at 6:30 took care of any counting game. And fall number five? That one was rough.
I ended up with a T12 compression fracture and pulled muscles that left me in pain beyond belief—my whole back lit up like a warning sign. It was almost too much. Almost. But eventually, I had to say, “No. It’s not too much.” Because I have to keep going.
I’ve been doing what I can while my husband’s at work. I now have a cane—thank you to my sweet granddaughter who picked it up for me—and a back brace that gives me more trouble than it probably solves most days.
There’s a “new normal” somewhere out there, but I’ll be danged if I know where it is.
The hardest part of this recent injury has been the question: Am I still me? And right now, the only answer I’ve got is: I don’t feel like me.
But… each day, I do a little more. I sit in the sunshine. I cuddle with my cats. I let music carry me for a while. There’s still enough here to build some kind of self-care on.
And coffee. Always coffee.
This morning, I had my first cup of Java in three days. Ahhh. Almost as good as sitting seaside with it. Okay—not quite. But still… I’ll take it.
