Post 86: Not the best first flight.

4 minute read time.

Post 86: Not the best first flight.

Some days are better than others — (U2)

———

Not having had much pain in my life until now, I’m a bit of a newcomer to this world of recurring discomfort.

I’ve been lucky. I’ve never broken a bone — unless you count the cracked ribs from a few years back that led to the DEXA scan and the diagnosis of a bit of osteoporosis. But ribs don’t count in my book — they’re just there to protect and break anyway.

There was that time I fractured a couple of metatarsals playing Stoolball as a young teenager and ended up in a plaster cast. But those were the days of flared trousers, so you couldn’t even see the cast. It was only the crutches that gave me away. Still, I don’t remember ever hurting myself much…

Well — except maybe for the time I decided to jump out of the apple tree in our front garden.

I had been sketching birds from the bow window for years, watching them peck at the crusts we left out on the grass. I especially liked the thrushes, but it was the daddy blackbird with the yellow eye-ring that I thought was the coolest. I spent hours drawing them, convinced I understood them, maybe even was one of them.

So, I climbed the tree, waited for an audience — Mum and the others — and took flight.

Sort of.

I launched myself with great confidence… and crashed at Mum’s feet. She stood there, stunned and silent. I sprinted off inside, confused as to why my glorious flight had lasted all of one second. How do birds do it?

The family still tells the story. It’s funny now — but it could have ended very differently. I was lucky that day. I didn’t learn how to fly, but I did learn to respect the idea of flight.

To this day, I’ve had a soft spot for flying. From French balloons to Concorde, I’ve loved them all.

I think my flying days are over now, but part of me still wishes I could take off and view the world from an above the hedges and rooftops.

———

My Darling has been wonderfully attentive, as always — keeping me on track with the daily routines and checking I’m feeling alright.

I was getting stir-crazy, stuck between the TV and a good book, so I suggested a short loop walk along the trail to get some fresh air.

Still a great idea, I reckon.

We survived the grey but warm skies and managed the 1.5 miles without incident. No tree-climbing, no thoughts of solo flight — just a gentle stroll. A walk in the park, ha-ha.

But when we got back, I couldn’t settle on the sofa together. My back started to ache — and these days, that’s a warning sign.

Within the hour I was hobbling upstairs, painkillers in hand, and trying to ride it out. It was rough for a bit, but I eventually nodded off into a nana nap and woke up comfortable enough for dinner in bed.

I really don’t know what I’d do without My Darling.

I try not to take her constant attention for granted — I love it — but I know I wear her out and I hate that I bring her stress.

I’m grateful.

I’m lucky.

Really lucky.

I stayed in bed for the evening and drifted into dreams of being younger, stronger — of flying again.

Those days may be gone, but they’re still stitched into my earliest memories.

———

Day eight passed without incident. No cardiac dramas, no tricycle delays — a good day. But pain management… that’s something I’ve got to get better at. It’s a skill in its own right.

Still, I’m well on my way.

My heart’s behaving, my stats are solid, I’m feeling mostly good, and I’ve got a couple of calm weeks ahead.

Big Sis is visiting tomorrow — a lovely break for My Darling and a chance for me to bore someone else with my latest woes and small triumphs.

I’d better go and water the sunflowers she brought to me a while back.

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