dancingthroughchaos

‘The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing.  He makes me lie down in green pastures‘. Psalm 23:1-2

My mental wiring shows that I am an achiever by nature and preference.  That means (among other things), that I become frustrated and unsettled during times when I get to the end of the day and feel I have nothing to show for it. 

No surprise then that I am also a list person.  Oh yes. I have been known to have lists of lists, and am that person who puts things on the list that I’ve already done just so that I can have the immense satisfaction of ticking them off.  Why wouldn’t I? I think that small action must release a hit of dopamine that sends erroneous messages of my value to my body and brain:  ‘Check Me Getting Things Done’, it proclaims smugly, disproportionally congratulating myself the while.

One of the things that I’ve enjoyed during lockdown is the discipline of exercise.  Yes, really.  When there was so much that we couldn’t control it was helpful for me to weave this into the fabric of the day.  In Cape Town, where we were only allowed out for food and the pharmacy, that meant plugging into some on-line classes for which I was, quite frankly,  spoilt for choice.  Once I got back to the UK, I was thrilled to be able to exercise outside again.  I’m not sure how long we were supposed to have in the fresh air but I walked around my locale with new appreciation for trees, greenery and the spring, which was blooming.  There was an understandable blip during my cancer treatment, followed by a grateful return to the multitudinous options for walking around beautiful Bath, and then another brief hiatus during radiotherapy.  Once that was out of the way I was determined to get back out there, build on my distances and enjoy the increase in my fitness and stamina.  By Christmas, I thought, I’ll be invincible…

So much for that. 

About a week later I wrecked my back, crumpling to the floor in a startling and excruciating heap of searing white pain.  Somehow I crawled to my bed where I lay immobile for more time than I can recall while my poor husband wondered whether to call a doctor, an ambulance or a taxidermist.  Visiting the bathroom was a major and complicated expedition.  Thanks to a combination of a kind sister and a skilled brother-in-law, I was taken back to Surrey and able to walk again before the week was out.  I was then told to expect a six week recovery period.  ‘What?!!’ I protested, not very quietly.  I didn’t think I really had six weeks to just lie around (“foolish fool”, my mother-in-law would have said), so made small forays beyond the front door for the next couple of weeks. 

I had one good, fairly long walk during which I spied several diverging footpaths which lodged themselves in my brain as definitely worthy of exploring, as well as a making a mental note to bring a Tupperware to gather the glut of blackberries clogging up the hedgerows this year.  Alas, it was not to be.

They say pride comes before a fall, but sometimes it’s just a combination of a random wet stone, sheer bad luck and gravity.  Indeed.  As I lay sprawled across the path, my dignity having rolled off into the undergrowth along with my sunglasses, I reflected on the series of fitness hiccups which kept sabotaging my efforts.  By the time I had gathered myself and my belongings, hobbled home eschewing the kind offer of a lift from some very sweet ladies who had come round the corner to find me in that compromised state, limped around Tesco for some milk which my mother had requested and staggered home, I had an ankle the size of Wales and the prospect of a long period of immobility.  The bruising I discovered the following day was a fresco of impressionist flair incorporating all the blues, purples and blacks the colour spectrum could offer.  I was not impressed.

A visit to A & E (where incidentally they have upgraded their records since I broke a finger in a volleyball accident in the 6th form at the school opposite; they could find no details for me), saw me exit with an inconclusive X-ray, a large adjustable ‘boot’ and a pair of crutches.  None of these are useful for hiking anywhere, but have served very well in keeping my ankle/foot stable and protecting it from more silliness; mostly my own.

Having written a book based on Psalm 23:5 I now find verse 2 coming to mind: ‘He makes me lie down in green pastures.’  Now, as you know, I am a big fan of green pastures, having my soul restored, replenished and revived etc, and still waters have a certain appeal too.  However, I am now reading it with a different emphasis: ‘He MAKES me lie down…’.  Yes indeed.  Apparently, so my family tell me (and they are not wrong), I am pretty useless at resting.  It irks me.  It irritates me.  I see jobs that need doing, my lists call to me and I have things in my mind which I definitely want to accomplish and achieve, yet now I am thwarted at every turn.  Rats!

However, since I am also living with the message of choosing to either feast on what is served or to push it away in disgust, I find myself yet again with that daily choice.  My foolishness stops here – for now at least.  It’s no bad thing to find that I have a little more time on my hands than I had anticipated and with shelves full of books at my parent’s house to hand, as well as a good internet connection which gives me access to the joys of Netflix and catch up TV it’s not so bad.  Hurrah!  Already through these literary and visual conduits I have visited: Canada, Pakistan, England and Scotland in the 1850s, first century Palestine, Tanzania, Kenya, Mongolia, Russia and Argentina.  Not bad for someone who has been pretty much out-of-action.

Believe it or not I have often exhorted others to take a break, to pace themselves, to ‘come apart so you don’t fall apart’, to be kind to themselves etc etc, so perhaps it is rather a case of: physician heal thyself.  The struggle is real. 

Rather than rail and flail against the current situation, I have come to a place of peace about it.  After all there’s not much I can do to change the situation but, as ever, I can choose my attitude.  I am determined not to ever become one of those people who dwell on their health until it becomes their identity and raison d’être, while probably boring everyone witless with their tales of woe.  Don’t get me wrong, I have several friends with chronic conditions which are serious and in some cases life-threatening, but I enjoy hanging out with the ones who are choosing to find joy and squeeze life out of their straightened circumstances; those who have lost health but not their sense of humour, their conviction of purpose or their faith.  In their company I can enjoy ‘green pastures’ whether I am vertical or horizontal.  I hope it will always be so, but I also hope I am back to the vertical sooner rather than later and preferably before blackberry season is completely over.