Thursday, 1 February 2018

When the going gets tough




As I write this, I am tucked up in bed watching Limitless of Netflix with a large mug of tea and my trusty sidekick (the pug shaped hot water bottle) wedged next to me. 
Where had I inteded to be this evening? At the gym, doing some cardio for 50 minutes before giving myself a clap on the back and marching proudly home to another cup of tea. 
Am I there? No. 
Will I be making it there tonight? Also no. 
I've made no secret of my previous injuries on this blog, even dedicating posts to certain aspects of my injuries in a bid to help encourage others to not ignore their symptoms. 
What I have, however, failed to omit from this blog is that I need my spine fusing. There, it's said. 
I have opened and closed this tab more times than I care to mention today, as this was one surgery I never wanted, and have had many a nightmare about. 
When I broke my pelvis, I lost all sensory feeling below my waist. All of the nerves to my legs were compressed, and I screamed and screamed to the person who found me that I was paralysed. To this day I have never forgotten what the panic and fear felt like as I tried to haul my broken lower half in to a sitting position. What I also remember is promising myself that if I could walk again, I would walk everywhere. I also remember the first time I walked unaided after my accident, and it felt good. 
So, why am I not at the gym now, when I said I would do all these amazing activities if I could walk again?
The answer is simple - I realised my limitations. Would you hop in your car when you knew it only had two working tyres? No. Would you force your 8 year old self to go out and run when they were clearly in pain? No (Well, I hope the answer is know, you sadist). 
My body is damaged, but it is not entirely broken just yet. I have overcome many hurdles since the 9th of June 2007; learning to walk, learning to climb stairs, learning to sit in a chair. All of this was made possible by the physios and surgeons and nurses of the NHS, all of whom took their time to build me up gradually. 
Unfortunately for me, my gym has an app where I can track what i've done in the gym and how often I have gone - I can tell you i've been 14 days in the past 4 weeks, and a large chunk of these have been in the last two weeks. 
But for now, I am sitting in bed, with my mug of tea and my hot water bottle and my Netflix, and I am thankful that I am here and able to sit up and watch tv. 
I am thankful that I can make the decision to not go to the gym today without feeling a crushing guilt, and I am also very thankful for Naproxen - thankyou, you clever little painkiller you.
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