Chapter 25 - Walking again
The cast came off after ten weeks.
My leg looked foreign.
Thin.
Pale.
Stiff.
Physical therapy began.
At first:
Range of motion.
Weight-bearing limits.
Muscle activation.
Pain.
Frustration.
I had spent my career helping stroke patients and brain-injury patients rebuild speech.
I had said things like:
“Small progress counts.”
Then I became a patient and discovered how irritating professionals sound when they are correct.
My physical therapist, Marissa, had no sympathy for my expertise.
“You do speech.”
“Rehab is rehab.”
“No.”
She was right.
I progressed.
Crutches.
Cane.
Nothing.
My gait remained slightly uneven when tired for months.
Then less.
At one year, I could hike two miles.
At two, more.
No miraculous marathon.
Normal function.
One afternoon I stood in my new kitchen.
Small apartment.
Wood floor.
No gray tile.
I dropped a spoon.
The sound hit the floor.
My body froze.
May you like
Then relaxed.
That was progress too.
