#thingsicando

Oftentimes my mind veers in the direction of what I can't do since living with widespread nerve damage.

That's understandable. I'm surrounded with reminders everywhere - on TV, internet, conversations, my eyes witnessing people's limbs and bodies moving at regular paces and not having to concentrate on things like grasping the dollar bills the clerk hands me when I am due money back after a transaction ...

Everywhere, I am reminded.

Except...
...when I ride my bike along rail-trails and greenways.
...or when I drive along country and mountain roads where traffic is sparse and the wheeled tin cans aren't tailing each other at 70 mph. That interstate traffic takes all my focus; wears me out.

And there are the multiple, serendipitous encounters when I'm reminded just how much I can do...
...the man, biking the greenway, who's had a stroke - it's obvious by his slowness and how his legs are awkwardly positioned and how his feet are placed on the pedals, one pointing out and one pointing in, unlike me, who looks "normal" while biking. The elderly man and I talk and share a bit of our stories. Biking is his freedom too. We are both thankful that we are still mobile.
...or a day I went to the mall to walker. With my usual slowness and concentration I get out of my Explorer and get out the walker and set everything up for my mall-walkering. I tell myself, "Good job," as people pass me by walking at their normal paces to go shopping. Shopping wears me out; too much to think about. I'm here to walker, not shop. And then, there appears the mother pushing her 10-year old son in a wheelchair that is leaning back so that her son is in a reclining position. His head droops to one side, his right arm is drawn up and his right hand hand drawn in. Maybe he has cerebral palsy. Mom and Son enter the mall in front of me and take am immediate right into the small post office branch. I think of how much work the mother had to go through to bring her son along on this errand. I think of the day-in-and-day-out toil she expends to care for her son. She probably gets little thanks or acknowledgement. After all, it's been like this since he was born. I don't confirm any of this with the mom who maybe isn't even his mom. But even if she's not, there are moms who live that life. That is love.
...and other such serendipitous encounters, at moments when I'm bemoaning what I can't do or feeling envious and ungrateful, to remind me of how good my life is.

I tell myself how much I have to be grateful for - healthy children, loving husband, clothing, comfortable shelter, food, no significant material needs, not living in a war zone, not housebound, that I can drive, that I'm mobile, and more. But telling myself the facts and feeling grateful are two different things. Ingratitude is magnified when I'm fatigued, which is most of the time these days.

But almost everyday, if not everyday, I acknowledge what I can do compared to what it took a Herculean feat when the nerve damage was at it's worst from Spring, 2013, through Summer, 2015.

Unload the dishwasher. Cut up food. Lift a glass. Unscrew a lid. Comb my hair. Use a towel to dry off instead of air-drying. Roll over in bed. Dress. Press buttons or flip switches. Walk a dog (except since surgery in 2016). Scoop kitty litter. Anything that involves lifting my legs or arms, or reaching.

When I perform those type tasks now, I often say to my self in a cheerful, job-well-done tone, "You did that!"

I have a personal Twitter account. In a couple recent tweets I've used the hashtag #thingsicando. I like that. I've only used it twice. Once about a biking excursion. Another about walkering across the mile-high, swinging (though it barely swings), foot bridge on Grandfather Mountain. I visited Grandfather on Monday, 11/20/17. A grand day it was...

this side of the bridge

mile-high swinging bridge

marker on bridge

that side of the bridge

looking southwest(?) from bridge

descent from the top

sunset

had to stop and eat here, due to the name