One day you’re kicking butt at the bowling alley. The next, you’re lucky if you can get yourself to the bathroom in time. The loss of mobility affects everything.
My husband and I recently adopted a new sport. We’ve been bowling occasionally with our son Jesse over the past year, but we hadn’t done an “official” sport together since the good ole water skiing days… way back in BC (before children). The prospect of something new was exciting, and we jumped in full bore with swirly, “winning”, brand new balls. Mine, the color of tropical waters, Caribbean Blue. His, a swirling lava flow of red and black.
Bill’s christening roll was a strike. A great way to start and in his mind, a good omen. I don’t know, maybe he got too excited. Maybe he got careless because his second time up — one step, two, three and #$@&%*!, something snapped on the backswing. Diagnosis: partial tears of Achilles tendon and calf muscle. Bad news for a bowler! But he’s lucky, “partial “ meant he dodged the surgery bullet.
During this brief time of my double duty — adding his chores to mine — I realized how the loss of mobility can snowball, setting you back even further. Even this temporary inconvenience knocks your perspective off balance. If you’re used to good health, you’re obedient when doctors say “do this and do that”, but I see clearly that a permanent loss of mobility might easily slip into other, more significant losses.
If you can’t move around, you sit more. Sitting more burns fewer calories, and muscles weaken. As your weight increases, depression can get a grip and motivation slips. Also, depending on other people for help all the time can mean another loss to grieve, independence. I’ve been giving this a lot of thought and figure if I practice adjusting to change with the smaller stuff, I’ll be ready when the bigger ones hit. In theory, I’ll be prepared! Maybe I should revisit my own book: Emerging from the Heartache of Loss.
Epilogue: Swelling’s down, mobility’s better, physical therapy is in the works. As for our new sport together, not for a while. Bowling by myself seems weird, but I’m prone to weirdness once in a while. My Caribbean Ball is calling.
Weeded out this week: The notion that things will always be the same. Resistance is futile.