Saviour

Posted on January 24, 2008 by Jamieson Wolf

More than ever, I think that my legs want to do me in.

Yesterday, I was getting off the buss, heading to the bookstore to buy the new Stephen King novel. I stepped off the buss and felt the ground rush up to meet my face.

Or rather, my body rushed down to meet it.

I had stepped off the back of the buss with my right leg and it had given away completely. I slammed onto the ground, the breath taken out of me, and my feet and part of my legs slid underneath the buss.

I felt a rumble above my legs. The buss was preparing to move away, with part of me underneath it.

The entire time, as I am lying there, my legs spasming full force now, no one offered to help me. I lay there, struggling to get back up on my feet with dignity, and no one offered to lend me a hand. No one asked if I was okay, no one bothered to tell me the buss was beginning to move.

They all just looked at me, stared. One woman even laughed and began to point. I tried to pull my legs out from under the buss, tried to move.

Thankfully, a woman towards the front of the buss yelled for the buss driver to stop. She waved at him and pounded on the front door. “Someones fallen back there,” she said. “Don’t move yet, he’s fallen.”

This made more people stare, those to absorbed in their own worlds who hadn’t noticed in the first place. They all looked, stared, gawked, but no one offered to step forward, no one helped.

The woman at the front of the buss watched, waited, while I got up with difficulty, feeling my cheeks flush. She gave the driver the okay sign and then came towards me. “Are you okay?” she asked.

She was older, perhaps fifty or so. She had lovely brown hair that peeked out from underneath a knit cap. “Yes,” I told her. “Thank you so much for helping me.” I wanted to reach out and touch her, make contact with her some how, to convey my thanks. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“Don’t mention it.” she said. “You would have done the same for me.”

“Yes, I would have.”

“More than I can say for any of the fuckers here.” she said. “Fuckers. People fucking suck.”

“You don’t.” I said. “Thank you.” The words seemed too small, incapable of conveying my thanks.

She reached out and touched me, took my hand. “You walk carefully, okay dear?”

I nodded and watched her walk away.

My saviour.

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Quivering

Posted on January 20, 2008 by Jamieson Wolf

For the past few days, my legs have been sore but relatively quiet.

It’s been my back and arms that have been somewhat worry-some. At work the other day, I was typing away when I felt a quiver underneath my skin. I expected the quiver to come from my legs, sore as per usual. But it was my back that was making the racket.

It wasn’t a normal spasm, at least not one I’m used to. It felt like something was vibrating underneath my skin underneath my left shoulder blade. It felt like a ripple of water where muscle should be.

I sat still for a moment, trying to let the moment pass. But it happened again. There was pain but also more shaking of the muscles, quivering of the skin.

Later, I would not be able to hold my pen. I would pick it up and start writing and it would fall out of my grasp as if my hands and arms were jelly and not capable of movement. Flashes of pain would run down my right arm, spasms, and I had to wait for them to pass.

In the evening, my body preparing to ride along the sleep highway on that train powered by dreams, my back quivered and shook. My legs responded, not ones to be quiet for very long and I couldn’t get comfortable.

As I lay there, waiting for sleep to claim me, I wished for a new kind of dream. I wished to dream of my body without pain, without discomfort.

But I already knew that the Sandman would deny me my wish.

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Bodily Negotiations

Posted on January 15, 2008 by Jamieson Wolf

I have been in negotiations with my body lately.

It’s not counting, not really. I wake up in pain and try to get myself through the day. I am awake and I feel my legs; they have gone rock hard in the night, the muscles knotted into tree trunks. Elephant legs.

 I think to my legs: We’re going to have a nice shower and get relaxed. They seem to like this idea because they allow me to get up, to move myself into the washroom.

In the shower, I tell them: You’ve got a long day ahead of you. You can do this.

They relax a little bit more. They like it when I show confidence in them, that I am trying to trust them.

Sometimes they slip up though; sometimes, there are brief flashes of hot pain in my back, my legs. I try to ignore them, try to concentrate on something else to keep my mind occupied.

Later, I remind my body the deal we had: Listen, I thought we agreed. You can do this. Just remember to breathe. Try not to look unfocused and give it a rest, will you?

My body seems not to like this attitude very much as it responds with a quick loss of balance or I trip on my own feet while walking.

Later, my body relaxes, just for a moment. It’s apologizing. A brief release from pain, a breath of air. Sorry, it says.

Then it starts again. I wait until I can get home to my husband, to a piece of joy so that the pain isn’t too difficult. I wait until I can sit, somewhat comfortably (my legs moving and shaking) so that I can read a good book.

Usually during my reading, it will occur to me that I was talking to myself. I am negotiating with me.

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Editing My Words

Posted on January 6, 2008 by Jamieson Wolf

  

This has been a busy weekend. We took down the Christmas tree, put the decorations away, had people over for dinner, moved the office around. And I handed in the edited memoir to Scott Pack at The Friday Project.

 

It was great feeling to know that I had come to the end of the edits, that I had been able to wade through the words again. It had taken me a lot longer than I thought it would, not for wanting of trying.

 

It took longer than planned mostly because it was difficult. It was hard to write the memoir but it was even more hard for some reason to edit it. To wade back into the words and make them right, make them fit.

 

I’m more than proud of the finished product though. Now at least I can take a bit of a break, I can let my mind rest a bit. Though there have been other things going on in my life, the memoir has held a spot backstage for some time now.

 

I am always thinking about it even when I don’t mean to. It held me in its grasp, it’s words my words, my story. I can’t begin to describe what it feels like to have everything written down, to have my words, my life, staring back at me from the page.

 

This means I can finally get back to blogging on a regular basis, something I know that I have been lax about. It’s such a relief, but now the worry will begin to set it.

 

Now that I’ve handed it back to The Friday Project, will they be as happy with it as I am? Will they find it engaging, enjoyable, inspirational? Will they find solace in my words as I have?

 I can only hope they do. All I can do now is wait, enjoy a good book and then take things one step at a time.

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A Standing Ovation

Posted on December 24, 2007 by Jamieson Wolf

I am beginning to get worried by my legs.

Often over the past month, I’ve had a lot of trouble standing up. I can stand, that’s not the problem really. It’s more being able to stay standing.

I have to use something to pull myself up so that I can get in that standing position, so that I can pull myself upright. I can feel my legs spasming at the very thought, the very notion and I know that no matter what I do they will protest.

Loudly.

Once I am standing, I feel as if I’m going to fall, as if I am falling forward. I imagine the ground rushing up to meet me, hard and fast like a one night stand.

It frightens me a lot more than I care to admit that I’m losing control over my body. I once thought that if I just kept going, just kept going, like that little engine that chugged so bravely up that hill, that I would be okay.

That everything would be fine.

Part of dealing with a disability is to ignore it, I think. To pretend that it doesn’t exist and prove others wrong by doing the opposite of what they say. According to doctors and therapists I’ve had, I’m supposed to be in a wheel chair.

I will not let them put me in one.

But I wonder if, to some degree, they were right when they said that there would come a time where I could not walk. I do not want such a time to visit me, I want it to stay as far away from me as possible, if you please.

I know that my legs are not as strong as they once were, that the spasms are happening more frequently, that I’m less and less comfortable, no matter what I do. I’ve gotten to the point where I can’t ignore it anymore, where the pain I was so blithely able to push away is now fighting me with a vengeance.

I am not going down without a fight, however. I refuse. I won’t let it happen.

All I have to do is take things one day at a time, one step at a time and hope, hope, hope that the next step I take won’t be as painful as the one before.

Posted in Muscles, Spasms, swelling, Walking | Leave a comment

Holiday Thoughts

Posted on December 24, 2007 by Jamieson Wolf

It’s been too long since I’ve updated this blog but not for lack of trying. Life just seems to get in the way of things, especially when you’re busy. What with the Holidays upon us, it’s little wonder that I’ve had no time to post.

 

I have been hard at work on the edits for my memoir titled One Step at a Time. It’s going to be published by The Friday Project in the summer of 2008. Thankfully the edits are almost done and I will be back to a regular posting schedule in the new year.

 

While the writing of the memoir has been difficult, it’s been the most rewarding of tasks to delve into it, to give my life a shape on paper when I can only remember it in pictures, little snapshots. My eyes are the lens and my brain is the camera, capturing images for prosperity.

 

The Holidays always help me remember bits and pieces of my past that I otherwise would have forgotten. I remember the smells of baking, the songs I used to sing. I remember baking with my grandmother, wrapping gifts with my mother.

 

While I’ve been editing my memoir and going through the pieces of my life I’ve sewn together, the memoirs have become stronger, become more concrete and less blurry. It’s been the weirdest experience looking at my life with a fine tooth comb, knowing that others are going to read about it in a short time.

 

I’m always amazed at the things that I’m able to remember. Sounds, music, little mental pictures that float to the surface like treasures. Especially around the Holidays I’m reminded of family, of togetherness, of companionship.

 

When I have those things around the Holidays, the pain in my legs doesn’t matter, the spasms in my back don’t hold any meaning for me. Because I know that, with a little luck, love and perseverance, anything is possible.

  

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Crick and Crack

Posted on November 29, 2007 by Jamieson Wolf

It’s common knowledge that my legs don’t usually like me to walk but lately they don’t like it when I try to stand either.

 At first I thought it was a fluke: I went to stand, to get out of my chair while I was at work, and I had to sit back down right away. Both my legs had given way and, if there had not been a chair below me, I would have fallen.

I figured it was a fluke, a freak chance that both my legs spasmed at the same time. I thought nothing of it. But more and more now, I have to pay attention when I’m standing.

It’s as if my legs get comfortable while I’m sitting and they don’t have to support my weight. It’s as if they are more quick at voicing their unrest, their out rage, by forcing me to fall on my ass.

The other day, waiting at the Husband’s work, I tried to stand when he came out of his office so that we could leave. He saw me sway, saw me have to sit back down hard. He put an arm out for me so that I could get my balance and I caught it, held it until I could sit back down.

“What happened there?” he asked.

 “I couldn’t stand.”

It’s happened at home too, trying to lift myself from the comfort of the couch, the seduction of the sofa. Bright searing pain flares up both my legs the moment I try to stand.

The other day, I felt my left leg give out while I was walking and had to let myself fall into a cement post. I held on to it, almost as if it were a lover, for support.

I know that the cold weather plays a part in how my muscles behave.  However, I wish that for one day there would not be pain while I walked, sat, strolled or meandered. But this is a wish that won’t come true.

So now, more than ever it seems, I have resorted to my old trick of counting. I hear the crick and crack of my muscles, of my bones and I count to get myself past the pain. I count to get myself beyond the soreness, the outcry of my muscles.

I count so that I can remember how to breathe.

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Stumble and Disdain

Posted on November 20, 2007 by Jamieson Wolf

My legs are continuing to betray me.

I don’t know why they have it in for me, but they do. I wonder if that twin of mine, the one who rests inside my body, has hired my legs to do me in, to take me down.

On my way to work this morning I was walking and then, suddenly, I wasn’t. It felt like I was falling, sinking to the side. I had gone to take a step only to have my other leg give out, give way.

I stumbled, hands out in front of me. I was able to right myself, to straighten up. I could feel the spasms in my right leg and they thrummed and hummed under my skin. I stood where I was for a moment, trying to make sure that I was alright, that I would be okay.

I took a step, my right leg sounding out with a bright flash of pain quickly followed by one in my left leg. Each step hurt but I walked as well as I could until I was able to sit on a bench. Dew and water soaked into my pants, but I didn’t care.

I only knew I had to sit.

I waited for the spasms to pass, for the humming to stop. A woman was watching me and shook her head, whispered something to her co-worker. They had seen the whole thing. I felt myself blush, redden, in embarrassment.

They both passed me, giving me disdainful looks.

I wonder if they thought I was a bum or an alcoholic? Their minds had been made up by what they had witnessed.

Neither asked if I was alright.

Even now, I can feel the thrum of the spasm’s in my legs, my back responding every once in a while. It’s not one to be ignored for too long.

Even now I wonder if I should have said something, explained myself to those two women.

Even now, I wonder if it would have mattered.

Either way, I wait for the pain to pass, for the spasms to settle and think of things that bring me joy.

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Sewing Thoughts

Posted on November 20, 2007 by Jamieson Wolf

I have been negligent in writing lately. This is mostly because I have been doing the most dreaded thing a writer can face: editing! While I know that editing is an essential process, I don’t have to enjoy it.

It’s been an odd experience going through the first draft of the memoir. It’s been weird reading everything and having to relive everything I’ve written down. I find that words are like time capsules: they hold time still for you. They hold time in it’s grasp and, even years later, you can be transported back.

I am glad, however, that the pieces of the puzzle have come together. As I edit and go through what I’ve written I remember more; I am visited by more ghosts. I wonder if I am like a modern day Scrooge to be visited by Ghosts of Christmas past.

I feel as if I’m sewing the pieces together now, giving the chapters and parts a glue and mortar made out of thread that pulls the pieces together, pulls them together to form a cohesive whole.

It’s odd to have my life in a book. It’s bizarre to read my words knowing that others will read them.

It’s also a relief to know that I’ve written everything down. To know that I have embarked on what is a fabulous journey and that I’ve survived to tell my tale.

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Showing Itself

Posted on October 30, 2007 by Jamieson Wolf

The other day at work my co-worker asked me: “Do you take any pain killers?”

I shook my head. “No.” I said.

“Why not? Surely with your Cerebral Palsy, you should be able to?”

I shrug. “I don’t take anything but asprin. I don’t like losing control of myself. I don’t feel like living in a fog. ”

“But is it better to remain in pain?” I could tell she was sincerely concerned for me.

“It’s better to live with it rather than trying to put a band aid on it.” I said. “I have to be able to be aware.” I told her. “There are worse things in the world than living with a bit of soreness.”

“Did you take any tylonol today?” she asked.

I nodded. “Yes, it hasn’t kicked in yet.”

“I can tell,” she said. “You’re walking funny today.”

I wondered later about how things change.

Years ago, people didn’t notice my Cerebral Palsy. People were shocked when I told them I had it.

Now, they can see it. It’s as if it no longer wants to hide, no longer wants to keep hidden and is trying to show itself, to make itself known, whether I want it to or not.

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