Feeling a bit sorry for myself today. I was standing at the top of the stairs, preparing to go down to have my tea, taking that moment to orient myself, make sure I was steady with a good hold on the banister, and then when I took that first step I felt that vertigo. A very brief, flashing reminder of the vertigo that happened on April 7, 2007 and sent us to the hospital. Today, unlike then, the vertigo was no big deal -- I went slowly down the stairs, holding on carefully. I have done this for so long, in exactly this way, that I don't even think about it any more. Usually. This morning, that brief vertigo made me think about the fact that I literally can't remember what it feels like to just jog down the stairs. Or stride quickly and purposefully through Nordstrom's to get past the perfumiers to the shoe department. Or run towards the dining room -- the best spot for hide & seek. I wanted to ask my husband if he remembers what I was like when I could move like a normal person, and maybe have him describe it for me. I wonder if there are videos from my early days with the kids I could watch.
I'm starting to feel like it's tough to visualize getting better because I can't remember any other way to be. Abby, of course, doesn't know me any other way. The kids have forgotten, too. They don't remember a time when I cartwheeled with them, or showed them yoga poses. That means they don't remember a time when I spent enough time with them -- one of the reasons I'm feeling sorry for myself today.
I guess there is one bright light: my cat hasn't forgotten. I know because (a) he hasn't stopped demanding that I play physical games with him, including a sort of reverse-fetch game where I do most of the work and (b) he seems to forget that I am clumsy and very likely to accidentally stomp on him with my bad leg, because he continues to weave in and out of my feet when I walk. So, there, it's not all that bad.
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