Jeremiah (jfargo) wrote,

Decades In Days

My steps are shuffling and unsure on my way from the living room couch and into the kitchen. Weaving around a chair takes thought and extra physical effort. Maybe enough that sitting in that chair for a moment or two is a good idea. Yeah, sitting down here, barely 20 feet from where I started walking? That's a good idea; the dizziness and weakness have come back.

Standing back up after a minute or five I shuffle-step my way in. Finally in the kitchen I get to the refrigerator, brace myself against the counter, and open it up. I don't fall over or tip much after a few days of this. I know how to stand so that I'm not falling all over myself from a small upset of balance. Mostly.

Okay. Milk. I wanted to get a glass of milk. Right. Shit, the milk just is practically full. This'll be a two-handed effort, hip braced against the counter. Grabbed it. Got it. Pull up, up, up! It's on the counter! Yes! I have to reach up for a glass to pour the milk into but that's not too bad. Small cup. It's glass so I'll be even more careful than if it were plastic but I don't drop stuff much.

Alright, it didn't break because it was such a small drop. That's a win in my book.

Pouring the milk takes some effort but thankfully I'm getting good at this. Hand on the handle, entire other arm underneath the whole thing to get it into the milk. My aim is particularly good, no extra clean up. I left the fridge open to make the next part easy enough; I already have two hands on the milk, slide it home and shut the door, every single step thought-out in advance like some expert real-time-strategy game player.

Shuffle, step. Shuffle, step. Back to the chair where I rested before but I've made an error by pushing it back in when I got up. No waystation here for this old battleship. Shuffle, step, grab something with hand not holding the milk to maintain balance. Shuffle, step. A few more. Just one more.

I'm at the couch. I'll put the milk down first before I sit because trying to hold it while sitting would be an unmitigated disaster; I'd have to go get the paper towels and I'm sure the milk would soak into everything WELL before I got back.

I sit.

I drink my milk. Sipping.

I'm breathing heavily and I feel cold. I wrap a blanket around my shoulders.

It'll get better, I'm constantly telling myself. I know it will. I just have to keep pushing a little bit, without it being too much because when it's too much I sit here wrapped in this blanket for hours, scared to get back up because of how shaky I am; how much older I feel. How foreign my own body has become.

It'll get better.

It'll just take time.

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