Last Saturday evening, fresh out of hospital, Roman wheeled me to the Duomo for our first walk. The north terrace has an access ramp, and is shaded most of the day, five full laps equals a half kilometer, so it’s made to order for recovering legs and feet after twelve days of nothing. I was shocked at how difficult walking again was at first, I’m still shocked. But walking the Duomo has become our twice-daily routine, and we are up to a full kilometer a day. Is walking easier? Maybe a little, but the quality of the walk has improved – most of the time.
This last Friday, someone asked the dread question “How are you?” Dreaded because there is no easy answer. Parkinson’s Recovery seemed to be going ahead nicely, then I fell and a host of complaints and symptoms arrived with the fall. Then there was recovery from the hospital and another lot of symptoms and confusion. But day before yesterday I could honestly report that Parkinson’s symptoms were all at a very low ebb, and that the only exception to that were sore feet and weak calves which may not have much of anything to do with Parkinson’s anyway. Then last night I slept wrong on my right side, and woke with a swollen back and amazingly painful reaction on my right neck and upper right shoulder. The pain persists, and all day it has been affecting my energy, appetite, and mood. It is a setback on top of a setback on top of a setback. And discouraging because on the heels of a little clarity comes another stream of confusion.
Today, the neck and shoulder pain has abated and the swelling gone down, but last evening, and this morning my feet – mostly the left one which had surgery a year ago – hurt while walking. In each case I could, after a bit of warming up, achieve a normal, long, and shuffle-free stride, but after a few meters the ankles give out and begin to hurt. This may just be compounded weakness of the calves; they atrophied in the hospital to a rather astonishing degree and were already weak from lack of training after last year’s operation. But the residual back pain, plus a good stride subverted by foot pain, took the steam out of me.
“You look like you’re working yourself through a terrible meal,” Roman observed.
“I just want to be home and asleep in the new recliner,” I answered sourly.
Roman allows what I need, but only gives me as much slack as is absolutely necessary.
On the up side of things, the Ukrainian group that Roman brings with him has been a marvel of lent resources. It began just before the fall when Roman brought home a wheelchair. We took it out on a spin and for the first time in over a year I saw Orvieto without the intervention of an automobile. Then I had the poor grace to fall and stared at a wall for almost two weeks. When I returned, talk turned to finding a sick-room potty. Two days later Roman brought one home, also on loan. The next goal was a motorized recliner. On Friday, Maria and Roman came in very excited. They had mentioned it to a friend whose mother she had cared for for years, and they immediately offered one on loan.
“We got you a recliner, and Slavic is here to help move it. Go into your bedroom and don’t come out until we call you.”
“Right now?”
“Right now.”
But all that sidesteps the central issue; that the Parkinson’s Recovery seems to be working, but leaves me with having to deal with unwalkable feet. My doctor comes over tomorrow to look at feet, and Giaccomo, who trains people with walking problems makes another call on Wednesday. My job is to see this all as steps in a process, and to try to let go of the notion of setbacks.
In the meantime, I’ve met some extraordinarily generous and wonderful people.