Walking fool

You might not believe this, but I'm in possession of a nearly normal-looking right leg. Well, the scars are still there, although they're no longer so grotesque but rather bad-ass.  At least that's what I'm telling myself.

Last week, my physical therapist taught me how to walk. Yes, after six weeks of sitting and awkward hopping about, one must be shown. It amazes me that while my body seems to know how to repair bones (!), my brain conveniently forgets how to put one foot in front of the other. 

And do you know what? I can do stairs too. I know: so many impressive tricks in such a short span of time. Give me a biscuit!  It takes a lot of energy to descend the stairs, "walk" to my doctor's office and back, then scale the stairs again, but it's taking less and less of a toll every day. 

Despite the slow-going of it all, I couldn't be happier or luckier to have such patient friends. They seem quite content to wade through the street at my 1 km per hour pace, deflecting unwitting tourists out of my path. I love it. The gratitude I feel casts a shadow on the small frustrations that come along with the hopeless expectation I put on myself to snap back to normal instantly.

Still, the prospect of getting on a bus (my main mode of transport around town and to work) still frightens me. And given the energy it takes to just get to the doctor, even if I did make it up to my office, I'd be too exhausted to do much once I was there. The may sound like an enormous cop-out, but if you knew the cabin fever that's set in, you'd know that it's far from the case.

The upside of extended couch time

Breaking my leg has forced me to be much more sedentary than I have ever been. I mean, even for your typical astronomer. After the surgery, I was told not to put any weight whatsoever on my leg for a minimum of six weeks, at which point I would get an x-ray to see if I could try walking again. In my fourth-floor flat (no lift), I have only breathed free air twice in that period, so I welcome this next painful stage happily. 

That's not to say this has been an entirely unfruitful six weeks. I am by nature quite a busy body, so I need something more stimulating than television to keep me from going crazy. Given my limitations, I think I did alright:

• I'm reading much, much more intensely, at levels normally only attainable while on holiday, rather than just half an hour before bed.
• I've learned to knit! I have never even tried it before, and if you want to start, I can heartily recommend this book (and a very patient friend who knits) to get you going.
• I've mastered giving myself injections! Ok, maybe less exciting for you... TMI?
• You may have also noticed, I'm blogging again!

Noticeably absent from this list is "getting lots of work/writing done," which has declined if anything. Something about having to be in a reclined position at all times basically makes research impossible. Trust me on that one.

Apart from this, this time has taught me a new level of patience with myself. Everything takes ten times longer than it normally does, and that's a bigger hurdle than I expected it to be. Not to mention how one can really begin to appreciate how little Europe has embraced disabled access to anything at all. 

Hopefully in the coming weeks I can venture out of the house a little more, though I will struggle to restrain myself from beating the life out of the very spatially unaware Germans that tend to wander down the Hauptstraße. Wish me luck.

Learning to walk at 31

Now begins my quest to walk again. My doctor assured me that my leg "would not explode" when I took my first step. Terribly reassuring. He also supplied me with a fashionable velcro ankle brace, which he made quite plain was only helpful for psychological purposes. Bedside manner is awesome in Germany, eh?

I have an appointment with the physical therapist on Monday, so we'll see how soon he'll have me in marathon form. Wish me luck!