Progress

Progress is quite boring when it's actually in progress isn't it? That's probably why I haven't spoken much about my day-to-day improvements here. After all, what's so interesting about the time I first took a shower on my own, or the day I walked up a hill for the first time since the accident?

However today being my first crutchless day for almost 5 months I realised that a lot of mundane little things have added up to a great amount of progress. When I first came out of hospital in March I left the house once a day in a wheelchair to be pushed to the bar for breakfast. During the day while E was at work I walked for a total of about 10 minutes a day in circles round the house then got tired and napped for the whole afternoon. We went to the hospital once a week with the wheelchair on the bus. It was the highlight of my week; I got to talk to people and stay out of the house for at least an hour.

After about a month I began to move better and develop some wonderful popeye arm muscles from the crutches. It took a while, but I could get myself up to the village piazza to sit on a bench for a while and pass the time. The wheelchair was still wheeled out for special occasions, such as a trip to Rome when my family came, but after a while we took it back to the hire shop and it was down to me and my popeye arms.

A while later I took my first trip to the pizzeria alone on the bus. When I arrived I was so tired E put me on a matress in the basement with my leg up on a sack of flour. I waited a few days then tried again; this time it went better.

In May I set off for a meeting with my boss to discuss going back to work. The trip to her office, some distance away on the bus, and the walk from the bus stop left me exausted. 'You know you can't go back to work like this' E told me gently. I knew he was right but was so disappointed. I asked my boss if she could wait another few weeks. I continued my trips to the pizzreia and round the village, and 3 weeks later went back to work, for 4 hours a day. Every day, after those 4 hours it was straight back to the pizzeria to put the leg back up on the sack of flour again.

June came and I started working full-time again. Around the same time my Doc started breaking my balls (as the Italians would say), telling me to lose a crutch. I did so and watched with horror as one of my popeye arms turned back into the jelly arm that I had known of old.

Nowadays I sometimes forget that I've got several bits of metal sticking out of my leg and get really confused when people stare at me on the bus, thinking I must have a stain on my shirt. Today I'm crutchless after another ball-breaking session at the hospital, and it feels fine- I'm just going to have to come to terms with my last popeye muscle going to seed.

See you in a week or so when I return from England, walking better but with with my old friends the jelly arms in tow.