ShoeStrings

Hi everyone

Here is my most recent blogging for you to all read and share!

Enjoy!

Emma x

If it looked good on my older sister, I then tried it. The shop assistant would hang them careful in the change room. However, when the curtains were drawn, it was my turn. I’d take a deep breath and would try each beautiful dress on as fast as I could. Slow. Really slow. Through the curtain my sister’s would take it in turns saying, “Em, are you right in there?” and “Em, do you need any help?”

To put it on I lay down and slid into like I was getting into a sleeping bag. Then, unzipped, I’d waddle out of the tiny room shoeless in a now crumpled dress. Standing exposed, forcing my siblings to use their imaginations. I’d need more than shoes, hair and make–up to blend in with the other three bridesmaids! I had a year. Getting it off was harder!

Bec has now returned to Clapham. Her bridesmaid dresses and wedding dress bought. Now, with no reason to stay, my older sister and niece have returned to Wollongong . I hate that I now have no excuse to blob. Bec’s return and my tummy operation were only short-term diversions.

EASTER

While they do beach runs, walks and table tennis games, I sit. I hate that enduring three days with eight others is a huge effort. Contributing to the many conversations is extra work. I sit and listen. Easter morning I wake up as my parents leave for church and all my siblings, my niece, my in- laws do their morning walk. Instead, I sit alone at the large wooden table. My Easter eggs are given to me, not worth risking the 12-month used by date in an egg hunt. I stand to go and have a shower but sit realising I have to wait till someone lifts the shower stool into the recess. Silence. Only the ‘tick tick tick’ of the clock. Even the dogs are on the walk.

Maria from the sound of music sings that “when the bee stings or the dog bites or you’re feeling sad. Simply remember your favourite things and you don’t feel so bad”. Once a kiss, hug or simply a bandaid made my pain or tears disappear. I now had no tears to disappear.

A needle, a dentist chair. A nurse’s hand to squeeze. A few stings. Botox injected, I left feeling no different. The surgeon said it’d take up to a week and the botox applications would be a slow process. The nurse left me with a tip,’ frown and smile in the next hour and it’s meant to speed up the effects!” Emotionally dead I left.

Three days later my forehead has responded. I frown or raise my eyebrows and now both sides don’t respond. I’m now completely wrinkle-free. I realise now how much I relied on my left side to portray my expression. Now I feel super glued, frozen, gaphotaped. Three days ago my over expression on my left side was mistaken for anger. Now I convey nothing. What’s more, I feel like my flat affect has really impacted my mood. It’s like my body saying, ‘Take away wrinkles and we’ll internalise your expression. I guess right now I feel more trapped.

APPARENTLY I’VE GOT GUTS?

The Shop Assistant sees me attempt to lift my heavy frame up two steps and despite serving, rushes to help me. “Do you want help Dear?” I don’t know why she asks; she has already lifted my frame for me. I lean forward, hands going forwards with the lifted frame, my feet still fixed. “Now don’t lean to far forward Dear!” I was now in a semi push up position. I definitely didn’t appreciate her tip and my response probably would’ve been picked if my botoxed face hadn’t of won. My feet crept up my frame till I was more upright. I’m sure if I’d turned the shop assistant would either be watching relieved or debriefing whilst serving the waiting customer.

Five steps lead up to the café. I waited at the bottom for a person to lift my frame up for me. A nice looking lady who didn’t appear to have any physical problems approached the stairs. “Do you mind helping me?” I asked. “Not a trouble!” she said and lifted my frame up for me. Using the thin worn metal banister I staggered up the stairs. Boy, did I need a coffee!! She turned around and said, “You’ve got guts girl!”

I swam for the first time in two months. My body now used to sitting, in shock – cold water, movement…24 laps later my legs were tired. Cement – like. Goose bumped I sat down to dry myself. A lady probably in her mid 60s walks in my direction. Here we go. Either a, ‘what’s wrong with you?’ or a ‘Need any help?. Yep. I guessed it. She says slowly  bending down to my level, “Can I help you at all?”. “No thanks” I say puzzled at her query when I was merely sitting. The lady stops, keen for an explanation for my state so I  say, “I had a stroke 20 months ago”. She immediately puts her hound over her mouth in disbelief, “ A stroke? But you’re so young!”. I want to say, ‘no derr!’ sarcastically but instead say, ‘Yes I am”. We both leave – she shakes her head in disbelief, my head movement is only ataxia.

I named my new scooter Harley. I guess like any new thing, after a while the excitement wears off and the guilt of money, the fear of your newfound independence sets in. My other aids, Anchovy & Bruce – my frames, and my stick all allowed me to mobilise whilst my feet touched the ground. Harley’s very different!

My first outing with Harley was to a local café. I thought a slight detour to post a letter wouldn’t alter my ride much. However, the red box was positioned across a busy road. Ten minutes later, I sped across the intersection, trying to beat any approaching cars.

The second obstacle that day was a large, long removalist truck that went up the driveway, across the footpath and onto the road. The driver kindly stopped traffic immediately jumping from his truck onto the road saying, “Don’t worry love. Yous drive your buggy around and I’ll stop ‘em”. He definitely didn’t stop traffic with his looks- dark beared, potbelly and pasty complexion. I nodded and leant granny style ready for my diversion onto the road.

The third problem was pressing the buttons at the pedestrian crossing. To do this, I had to drive close enough to ensure I could press the silver dot. It reminded me of the many times I entered a car park at a shopping centre and drove too far to the left, forcing me to hop out of the car and remove the paper ticket fast enough to be back in the car to pass the yellow boom gates. Similarly, I had to press the silver button, manoeuvre Harley with enough time to cross with the green man.

Two years on the pension. Two years of sleep ins. Two years of flexibility.”You could spend 1.5 hours at Chaddy couldn’t you Em?” Mum said. “I guess so!” I remarked. I had nothing that I really needed to do. So after dressing I arranged to get picked up at ten thirty. However, standing with my bag I realised I was only shopping for a time filler. I had bills to pay. I would definitely spend money. And I was tired of trying to purchase new items to try and disguise my disability or divert others attention. I’m sick of being known as, ‘A lady of leisure’ and being told to, “make the most of it!” So I return to my red chair.

Tonight I’m watching the biggest loser. Seeing families so happy to see their transformed participants. The audience applauding as they walk one by one down the cat walk and push their previous ‘fatter’ images aside. Wish I could do that! I hate that my transformation is reversed.  Am I meant to stagger down the catwalk on my frame? Perhaps I could strut my new eye infection?

Superman suit. A gym membership. A holiday. A hair cut. All forms of transformation. Is there any point in joining a gym if you occasionally eat Tim tams? Is there a reason why we cut and dye our hair? Maintenance I guess. So when I ask myself daily ‘Is there any point?’ I guess the answer is ‘yes’. If I didn’t do my exercises maybe I would loose motivation and ultimately hope. An ugly cocoon houses a butterfly. An ugly toad when kissed turns into a handsome Prince. So maybe my disability image is full of bright and beautiful things?