I was going to say “What I wouldn’t give to be able to go for walk” but that would be me being overly dramatic. When I come to think about that properly, there’s nothing that I can think of that I’d trade for the ability to go for a walk on these two legs of mine. I like my life. It is a good life.
What I should say instead is simply that “I’d love to be able to go for a walk right now.”
When I say walk in this instance, I mean just that. Not a scoot or a wheel, but a walk. The freedom of just stepping out of the front door without having to get all of the paraphernalia needed for a scoot. (Blanket, drink, keys, waterproof poncho, battery check…)
There’s a post box four houses down from us. In the ball of excitement that I was when we moved here, I pledged that I wanted to be able to walk to it and back every day as part of my baseline. In October we’ll have been here two years. I’ve managed to walk there four times. Ever ambitious Anna!
In truth, I thought I’d be further along than this by now. September marks a decade of life with M.E.
But what I have to remind myself, sometimes really consciously remind myself, is that for years walking the 2 metres from our front door to the front gate was met with such euphoria it beggars belief. When things were ‘good’ I could do that 6 days out of 7.
Now, I can walk down the garden path to my ‘Garden Bed’ on any day that isn’t my worst.
I might not be where I want to be, but I’m not where I was. And the word Yet could be important here, and in many other examples where I haven’t quite made it. Yet.
(But I still really do wish I could go for a walk, round the block even, just this once.)