Sacred routine

Hip pack.
Blue tooth.
Phone.
Charging cord.
Soft cooler with shoulder strap.
Water bottle.
Orange.
Almond coconut Cliff bar.
No need for oil, I've already had my afternoon dose.
Envelope with a payment for the eye doctor.

Wow. Maybe I will get back to "normal."

Pre-surgery, my regular routine was to take along my survival kit when I'd leave for the day. It always includes my hip pack and soft cooler, with their contents. Today, as I packed my survival kit, I felt a feeling of 'normalcy,' almost sacred. I hadn't realized the sacredness of this routine, until now.

Two days ago, I had driven for the first time since 8/29/16. And again yesterday. Hubby was with me on both those trips. Today is my first day out alone since six weeks ago. It feels like it's been months.

Cane, in hand.
Trekking poles, in the laundry room. I'll get them on the way out.
Walker, already loaded in the Explorer.

Where should I go? Somewhere outside, I think. I won't be able to hobble far. I need to go where there is a bench handy, so I can sit and rest.

Pilot Mountain? I don't feel like driving that far. And I'd hit Hwy. 52 traffic at rush hour.

Par Course? There's a bench right at the entrance. But it's rained a lot, and the path will probably be muddy. And I'd hit Silas Creek Parkway at rush-hour.

I slowly make my way down the stairs as I carefully place my right foot on a wooden step, and then follow with my left foot on the same step. I've been practicing stairs a lot.

Bad, down to hell. Good, up to heaven.

That's the formula to remind me which leg to lead off with. When going up the stairs, good leg first. When going down, bad leg first. I don't like calling my surgery leg my "bad" leg. But for doing the stairs, I make an exception.

I successfully reach the ceramic tile landing at the bottom of the stairs.

With cane in hand, but not using the cane, I make my way through the den as I practice walking. I concentrate endeavoring to not limp (which is impossible). But I keep proper form as best I can. I focus to keep my balance, to strategically place my footsteps. I feel the muscles working in my surgery leg reminding myself their memory is working and will come fully back.

I feel like I am learning how to walk again.

It's not just a feeling.

I wonder what it must feel like to a child walking for the very first time. I doubt they are so keenly conscious and aware of their muscles moving. But maybe they are. I wonder if they feel excitement? Or is it just something they do and wonder what it is they are doing? They like it, so they do it again? I'm sure they don't feel the pain of cut muscles reuniting.

I make my way through the den, then the office, then the laundry room where I pick up my trekking poles. I put my right hand though a trekking pole loop, and let it drape my wrist as I grasp the pole on its grip with my right hand. I do the same with my left hand, in which I also hold the handle of my cane. My cane is shorter than my trekking pole and doesn't touch the ground.

Using my trekking poles, which help me keep proper walking form, I slowly make my way through the garage and out to Edward the Explorer. I open the driver door, pull my hands out of the loops, and lean my trekking poles and my cane up against the door jam. With my right hand I unhook the bright green and silver carabiner that holds my keys and is latched onto my hip pack. I lean across the driver seat and place my keys in the console.

Holding my cane in my right hand, I extend my right arm across the driver seat and prop the cane on the passenger side. I unhook my hip pack and throw it across the driver seat; it lands in the passenger seat. I pull the strap of the soft cooler over my head. I again reach as best I can tossing it onto the passenger seat. It's a bit more awkward than my hip pack.

I grasp my trekking poles, step backwards, and make my way to the door behind the driver seat. I open it and place my trekking poles in the back alongside Wally, my walker. I close the door and hobble back to the open driver door.

With my left hand holding onto the door and my right hand holding the steering wheel, I slowly, deliberately, and carefully place my good foot, which is my right foot, onto the running board and step up. I make sure I'm stable and then carefully pick up my left foot and place it on the running board in front of my right foot. My left hand lets go of the door and takes hold of the door jam next to the windshield. I stand for a moment making sure I'm balanced before my next move. While still holding the steering wheel with my right hand, I carefully place my right foot into the vehicle and onto the floor board lowering myself into my seat as I pull in my surgery leg and place it on the floor board. I reach with my left arm and close the driver door. I take a deep breath in and slowly exhale.

Good job Carol.

I settle into the seat and put on my seat belt.

Well, I need to drop this payment in the mail box at the post office. I'll just head that direction and see where I end up afterwards.