Undoing the undo

After I moved back into the old rooms at the old house two years ago, I was dealt an ultimatum. All my old posts had to go and any new posts had to be totally neutral. That became a nonnegotiable item for living there. It was delivered in January, when I returned from convalescing from the broken femur. It was pack up the loom and the broken leg and leave, or spend a month deleting the life I'd recorded.

I deleted the first post, about finding a kitten in Pittsburgh. Like slitting my wrist. Not just cutting, actual slitting. Muscle, bone, sinew. It was gone! I sat and stared at the screen for a long time. I could not do that again. Mary Moon made me brave enough to blog, told me just to start typing and the rest would take care of itself. And so it has.

All the rest of the posts were suspended. One at a time, day after day, week after week. It takes time to suspend eighteen hundred odd posts. My life from 2011 to present. But finally I was left with nothing but the present. January 2021 and on. Some very canny old timers caught on. River, for one, and Ellen. I just went on from there, for a year, a new beginning. 

But I never really recovered from that broken femur. I could have, but my heart wasn't in it. I started looking at ways to rehab without working at it. And here I am. I love the irony of the Independent Living retirement home. All the rest is pretty plain. Then Assisted Living. Then Memory Care. And so on. Down the last long (?) path to dead.

I decided on the Atrium. Although it is counter to my old tree hugging, liberal and loud days, I was not scared. Nothing would change me, and perhaps it was time for a change here. Jan and I toured the facility and I had decided before I saw the room. That was a year ago. From time to time over that year, I reposted some blogs. 

Now that I am at one year here, it's time to roll up my sleeves and get going. I've reposted about a thousand entries and have about seven hundred to go. Of course, I can't just pull it up and hit "Post". Often I have to stop and read. It's fun.

But what about the actual rehabbing business? Back on my feet! Well, here it is. I'm still on the walker I adopted after living here a short time. Every fall here has taken more starch out of me. I got so sick in March. That took another cup or two of starch. But, I have stayed with the exercise, three times a week. It has saved me.

The exercise classes have made me able to save myself from some of the consequences of the several falls I've taken. When I've determined help was not coming to get me off the floor, I got myself up. Think about that. Not my long term goal, but good enough at the time to be able to get up and get on with it.

Every fall has involved my head, though, and I am fully aware of how much more mental ability a fall has cost me. I'm OK all morning and afternoon, but by supper time I am through. I cannot remember, think, reason. But, I can still get back to my room and pass the evening to bed time.

At supper last night, RoseMarie and I and Betty were the last at the table, as always. It used to be just Rose and myself, but now Betty stays to help Rose up from her chair and over to her walker. I used to do that, but am so grateful Betty has taken over. I'm much more sure on my feet than Rose, thanks to exercise classes, but I know I could easily misstep and fall again.

As we were pushing off, Rose said she always intended to get this old, just not this decrepit. I agreed, saying I had no idea I'd be using a walker to get around. I guess that's the hint I've waited for. I need to start in the gym, on the recumbent bike, next week. Won't be Monday, though. I have an 11:30 doctor appointment in Cleveland. By Uber. Report to follow.