I’m especially clumsy since my stroke. Slow-moving, stiff, and prone to falling down, which I haven’t done in some time. Makes me worry I’m due for a big one. As big as I am, it could cause a small earthquake. Being big also means it’s harder for me to get up, at least by myself, but I can do it.
Outside the house, I walk on a cane. I bought the one I’m using a few years ago, when the TV show House MD was on the air. Remember, he had the cane with racing flames at the bottom?
The first time I saw it, I said, “You know, Mary, if I ever need to use a cane, that’s the kind I want!” I should have kept my big fat mouth shut.
After nine years, I’ve gotten used to being in public with people who take a step backwards when I’m walking behind them and children whose own little world doesn’t include large men on canes. I’ve learned to watch my step and not to assume that something that wasn’t there a second ago (kid, adult, table leg, etc.) isn’t there now.
At home, I have the cats to consider. Walking down the stairs is a major production, because I have to keep an eye out for one of the little darlings who, seeing that Daddy is ready to come downstairs, realize that they absolutely must be upstairs. And, I have to remember that just because the cat wanted to be upstairs so badly a couple of seconds ago doesn’t mean they won’t absolutely have to be downstairs now. One of the little darlings has a habit of getting halfway upstairs and standing there, front paws on one step, back paws on the step below, trying to decide whether to go up or down. This is Milton, our Devon Rex, the only purebred cat we’ve ever had and the only one we paid for. I like to figure out how much we paid per brain cell. I have another who, seeing I’m walking, will run to get in front of me and flop over like a flounder.
On the positive side, I’m still alive and still able to walk. I’ll live with the clumsy…