Patience (on Crutches)

Most of my friends know, to some extent, my ankle situation and my frustration dealing with it. But, a brief recap. I broke my ankle wearing stupid girl shoes (yeah, my legs looked HOT but I walked like an Egyptian, a retarded Egyptian, that is). Breaking my ankle hurt like a mutherfuck, but beyond the pain was the realization I was stuck on crutches, away from trees and grass and my canoe for 2 months. And that's where I broke emotionally. I couldn't dance, my friends were doing their own thing that I couldn't be a part of, and I just generally fell off the wheel. My ankle swelled, my crutches hurt, I am totally ungainly in my stupid boot that weighs 10 pounds (and is covered in light furry dog hair-can you say crazy dog person boot??).
So I am down and out of any fun summertime social fun. My hikes, dancing, camping, weeding, gardening, skinning dipping late nights..well, they are over for the year. The season I look most forward to ended well before I was ready.

One day, out for a crutch walk with friends, I almost lost it. My sides were rubbed raw, my foot was swollen like a balloon, I couldn't keep up, and I was straight up miserable. I wanted to smile and laugh like I didn't give a shit, but inside, I just wanted my bed and so much sleep I could forget about my life for a while.

And then, I remembered my aunt Olive (Aunty Olive to me-named for Oh Live after her older brother died suddenly at 2 years old). She was diagnosed with a close relative to MS (a weird german name) and her legs simply stopped working for her. Her ankles bent inward, and everyone told her she would be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of her life. She was probably, I am guessing, in her early 40's. With 4 children and a husband that died about 10 years before her.

She refused to be confined to a wheelchair. My aunt walked, cooked, and cleaned, on crutches. She always smiled even though it pained her to walk so slowly behind everyone and had such a hard time in the kitchen. I cannot imagine the patience she had to live on crutches, and the strength she had not to succumb to letting someone push her around. I never even really thought about it before, but I have such a strong respect for her now, and I only wish I could have told her so. She died from a horrible disease, stomach cancer, slow, painful and stuck in bed. And I never said goodbye.

So this blog is for you, Aunty Olive. Thank you for reminding me not to bitch and complain and to succumb to depression. My deal is temporary. And although I hate to utter "God", I thank whatever it is that I get to walk, run, camp, hike, swim, at some point, soon. I just have to keep on trucking...wish me luck.