I'm two weeks into physical therapy. Since I'm not able to put any weight on my right leg yet, I've been doing a lot of stretches, lifts and work with my right shoulder. It's been going well. It certainly pushes me and causes some pain, but it's definitely worth it. I'm just keeping my eyes on the prize, which in my case is just getting back to "normal" as much as possible.
Last week, I realized that my first day of gait training (aka: learning to walk again) will be on my 33rd birthday. I honestly couldn't think of a better gift.
And then I got to thinking deeper into the situation (as I typically tend to do) - specifically, about the timing of it all. Early on in my diagnosis, I wondered, "Why now? ... While I'm in a busy time in my work and personal life? While my children are so young? While my husband and I can still race down the slopes and play sports with our children?"
But then I started to ask myself ... "Whose time?" I mean, in my mind, we are all on borrowed time to begin with.
And I realized that, at 33 years into my life, I would be re-learning to walk again while my 13-month-old is learning to walk for the first time. If I have to learn to walk again, I'm glad he's right there with me. And I get to take that first, long-awaited step on my birthday. And for the first time, material gifts seem silly. And I have the summer and the sunshine to look forward to with a new lease on life.
Certainly, no time seems to be a "good" time for something like this to happen. But maybe the timing wasn't so bad after all.
Ten more days.
"I waited patiently for the Lord; and He inclined to me, and heard my cry. He also brought me up out of a horrible pit, out of miry clay, and set my feet upon a rock, and established my steps." (Psalm 40:1-2)