Step by Step by Linda Buchan

Author:Linda Buchan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pantera Press

16

Slowly Does It

I knew very early in my recuperation I would never play netball again, or any kind of sporting activity, so, I concentrated on a much less ambitious goal: my recovery.

Mum remained the source of my strength in the days, months and years that followed. I dread to think where I would have been without her. When I left rehab, I had to give the wheelchair back and Mum became my crutch. She knew me almost better than I knew myself at that time.

Mum instinctively knew when I was tired, hungry, upset or just needed space to myself. She also understood I would not be happy living dependently on anyone, and she encouraged me to accomplish things myself, to move towards independence.

Another of Mum’s many qualities was patience. We were attached at the hip. She showered me, dressed me, brushed my hair, cared for the burns on my legs and fed me. I wouldn’t be here if either of my parents weren’t as strong and young as they were.

My bed was just outside Mum and Dad’s room, and when I woke one morning I smiled as I sensed Mum looking at me from the doorway of her bedroom. I felt my mattress dip down slightly on one side as she sat alongside me and then her arms wrapped around me.

‘How did you sleep?’

‘Good thanks,’ I yawned.

Shuffling my legs from under the blankets, I felt I was moving like I always had but of course it was different. I manoeuvred slowly, concentrating hard to force my body to move; a stark contrast from the world inside my dreams where I moved effortlessly. I had no limitations in my dreams. I was free.

I could place both my feet flat on the floor but Mum had to help me off the bed. Being vertical was a strange sensation. I knew that was how it was meant to be, but due to a combination of muscle wastage and my inability to balance, I could not hold my own weight through my legs. Mum had to help me to the bathroom and lower me onto the toilet seat. When I was finished, I tried to pull myself up onto my feet by using the basin and shower screen for leverage.

‘Mum’ I said in my crackling tones. My vocal cords were slowly remembering how to work together but not consistently. The sound that came from my mouth was patchy, like when a guy’s voice drops, but my noise was high-pitched and squeaky.

As she entered the bathroom, I held my hand out to Mum and, knowing that I needed more assistance than just a hand up, she slid her arms under my armpits and hauled me up. With her hand resting on my back for support, I held on tightly to her other hand, holding it in front of me, as I slowly moved one leg and then the other. It was painful, exhausting and extremely slow, but mostly it was frustrating.

Nothing had changed within me. I thought the same way.

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