Healing

Today was the coldest morning so far, because of the wind. Not even the deer were out when Walter and I walked the loop of Winged Foot to Rock Creek.  I wore spandex leggings, jeans, the top I slept in, a turtle neck, cardigan, scarf around my neck, parka with hood, knit cap, another scarf and gloves. My feet were in the usual dirty white walking shoes.  The wind bit at my face and snuck around my glasses to dry out my eyes.  Walter was oblivious to the weather, finding many interesting scents on grass and bushes, some took a long time for him to decipher.

My groin muscle didn’t feel too bad, this the 3rd day after feeling like I might throw up at Billy Gene’s Saturday night, not because the food was bad, it was great, but because the pain emanating from my left sit bone seemed to permeate my internal organs and turn my whole body to jelly.

The mystery is how I hurt myself in the first place. I’m figuring my muscles must have stiffened up from two-weeks of being sick after returning from LA.  The trip itself was stressful. My mother’s house was so cold I had to sleep with a blanket over my head, and get up before her to turn on a space heater in the kitchen.  I also don’t adjust well to time changes, so I’d wake up at 5:00 a.m. but stay up with her until midnight.

Landing in San Antonio my right ear would not unclog and the pain got worse and worse. I kept chewing gum, yawning, swallowing but nothing worked. I spent the next day sleeping. When one week had passed I went to a walk-in clinic where the doctor told me ear infections are rare in adults and that he could see scar tissue from the infections I had as a kid.   I took a slew of drugs and after a week started to hear clicking sounds in my ear.

In the meantime I remember stretching with the cat. Is that when I pulled my groin? Or was it when I tried to get out of bed and she wouldn’t budge and I had a hard time maneuvering around her? Or when I got back in on the other side and had to scoot over to my spot? Is this what’s meant by “getting up on the wrong side of the bed”?

No matter. The damage was done. I was half-deaf and half-crippled. “You’re old!” my husband reminded me.  Resolution: when I feel better I’m going back to yoga.  I remember a line I wrote in a poem, back in the 80s when I used to go to aerobic class, “All loose and smooth I stretch my forehead to my knees. . .” How wonderful it felt to be so fluid!  In those days physical and emotional pain came but it also flowed away. Now tension, worry, and anxiety form fists within my muscles with bony fingers determined to strangle me.

But I will fight! I will heal. I will get strong, and rise again. I can feel my torn thigh beginning to mend, valiantly re-weaving muscle cells. I can feel my antibodies on high alert, marshalling together to attack the evil viruses and bacteria that wanted to kill me.

Victory is around the corner. I must be patient, resolute and determined. I will dance again! And the music will sound lovely in both of my of middle aged ears.