Feeling Betrayed by My Body

Things seem to be falling apart one by one by one.

The changes keep coming. The losses keep coming. My body is succumbing to time and wear and tear. I continue to age. And things keep happening.

Footloose? Not so much.

The latest is my feet. They hurt. Walking is now not the easy, don’t think about it, form of therapy that has been so important to me. 

One of my cathedrals is the redwoods. A walk in the redwoods is my visit to a place where my soul can breathe and talk to me, and where I can better hear her. It helps heal me and soothe me. The trees speak to me. I touch them and feel their essence. I feel comforted. 

It’s not a huge illness. It’s something called metatarsalgia. Inflammation of the metatarsals in the foot. It feels like my socks are bunched up, except it feels this way even when I am not wearing socks. 

Rest, ice, reduced walking, even wearing an orthopedic boot are supposed to help. I admit that I don’t wear the boot all the time. There are places that walking with the boot would most likely result in a tumble and rolling down a hill…not pretty. Not safe. 

I sttuggle with weight, and now reduced activity adds to the struggle.

I notice that I walk more slowly. Get winded more easily. Exercise is needed, not to be fit these days, but to keep moving and keep functioning. A necessity. And I miss it right now as I try to do what I can to help my foot heal.

But even more, things that I didn’t think about before now require some thought. I am slowed down, stopped. And I am frustrated. And sad. Because I know that my body continues to break down.

I don’t need to be reminded to be grateful, please. I am grateful for still being here, still being alive, still having the health that I do at this moment in time. I still have a right to feel the sadness as well. It doesn’t negate gratitude, but it needs its space to be. 

So, I am sad. And feeling loss all around me.

I lose parts of my life that were taken for granted until I was forced to pay more attention to them, and not in an easy way.

Visiting a 93-year-old in a nursing rehab facility.

I went to a rehab facility to visit a 93-year-old friend, a fellow volunteer at the local zoo who has been volunteering there for over 30 years. He voluntees with the elephants, where I also spend my time. We chat when we are there together. He has shared some of his stories, which are wonderful. He is a former actor who can break into song easily…most often singing “What A Wonderful World”. Poignant, to say the least.

He had a stroke the other week. He is fed with a feeding tube and is getting physical and speech therapy. He was sleeping when I visited him, as they had worked him hard that morning in therapy. He didn’t wake up when I tried to gently see if I could wake him. He needed his rest. 
So, I spoke softly to him, just in case any part of him could hear anything, as I gently stroked his hand and forehead. He looked so frail. I don’t know what the prognosis is. He is 93. I took some photos of our elephant and asked the staff to tape them up where he could see them when he was awake. Maybe they can bring a smile, a good memory. I hope so. 

I noticed how bruised his skin was from the IVs. I notice how much more easily my skin bruises these days. Sometimes I am not even aware of where I got some of the bruises, as it doesn’t take as much at all now.

Elephant size grief.

We have one elephant left at the zoo these days, and most likely they will be moving him so that he can be with other elephants. That will be good for him. I will miss him terribly. I have been volunteering with the elephants for the last 11 years. It is another of my sacred spaces, standing in awe in front of these majestic beings. When I stand in front of this wonderful elephant, I get quiet. I feel his essence and I hope that he feels mine. There is a connection there between two beings living and breathing in the same space. I am so grateful to have been able to do this in my life. It is such a gift. 

Memories of my parents.

I remember watching my parents age. Now I understand on a deeper level what they were going through, what I could not really grasp at that time, but can now see and feel in myself. 

Aging is high maintenance.

I must plan better these days for outings. I must think about things that I might need to stay comfortable. Spontaneity is not always an option. I think I may have to figure out a “go-bag” designed for myself as a senior, so that perhaps I can simply have a bag ready with things that I might need and can simply grab it and go more easily. 

I need to stretch in the mornings. I need to plan to go to the restroom for preventive peeing. I now think about how much I really need an item that may drop onto the floor. I think about how best to get up from a chair, or practice how to get up from the floor if I end up there at one point. Floor recovery is what they call it in PT, I believe. Who knew?

I need to encourage myself to go and do what I can, even if I have to revise how I might have done that before. Maybe I can take myself to the park and walk a little way in and sit on the benches so as not to further injure my foot.

I need to be more aware of protecting my skin. My 93-year-old friend talked about no longer being able to use band-aids, as they can rip off his skin when he removes them. He would tell the lab staff this each time, as this was not something that they might think about. 

I am more aware of walking on uneven surfaces. Falls are a danger. I hear about elders taking a fall and the difficulty sometimes of recovering from those falls. 

I still go to the gym, but need to be aware of what my body can tolerate, and which machines might not be on the list for a particular day. 

I watch elder classes and realize that I have arrived at this stage. Now I better understand the modifications in exercise or dance. 

Fear/Courage….Just keep moving as you can.

I must admit that I feel afraid sometimes. I’m afraid of what is coming, afraid of the unknown, afraid of what the journey to the end will be like and how to best plan for that, while trying to keep living as fully as I can while I am still here. I want to keep embracing each moment, even with stiffer arms, taking it one step at a time, even with sore feet, keep reaching for things, even if more stiffly, keep learning continually about letting go….breathing, letting go, and still loving while I can. Sometimes loving means saying goodbye, like with our elephant. I want the best for him, even if it means the end of our occupying the same space together. 

I am here. Creaky, sometimes injured, wrinkly, saggy, walking slowly, being invisible to many, except to those of my elder tribe. I am grateful for each moment, even if those moments carry more pain and heartache. I still feel joy, I still breathe, I am still alive.