After months following summer surgery of not being able to walk without pain, of having my knee constantly dislocate to the inside, of ending each day snapping at the people nearest to me because the pain level had finally gotten the best of me, I am relatively pain free.
This weekend, I took a walk in a snowstorm with my son – something I haven’t been able to do for at least 3 years.
Today in Physical Therapy I did side jumping into little squares – something that was impossible to do even last week.
The difference is that now I’m wearing a modified leg brace. It extends from mid-thigh to mid-shin. And after fighting this thing for months, I’m finding that it is allowing me to literally get back in the game.
Tomorrow a friend and I are going to join a gym. We’re going to exercise aerobically at least 4 times a week and hopefully more. I’m giddy at the thought of rejoining exercise and getting back in shape.
The problem is that I seem to have this love/hate relationship with the brace. I love it because it is giving me my life back. It’s reducing pain. It’s giving me back freedom and to some extent my sanity.
I hate it because it is a public announcement that my body has failed and needs external support in order to work properly. That and it looks really lousy with pearls.