It’s a stellar day here in New York, by which I mean we can see the sun and my leaving home this morning wearing a t-shirt and jeans proved only a little chilly. Weather reports promise 70 degrees later today but by that point I’m planning to be whizzing along the Merritt Parkway with the car’s top open, singing along with the Cosmic Rough Riders: the only Glaswegian approximation of the Beach Boys that I know of.
So yes, I’m driving, with the tacit encouragement of my physical therapist. The numbness in my limbs has receded still further in the last three weeks. I can feel my heels and the outer edges of my feet pretty well, the balls of my feet somewhat, and the piggies who had none and cried all the way home somewhat faintly. (The piggies who went to the market, stayed home, and ate roast beef are still AWOL when I close my eyes, however.) Driving in stop and go traffic provides a stiff workout to my still-recuperating calf muscles, but long stretches of cruise-control driving are easier; having driven back from New Hampshire last weekend with Kate in the car, I’m confident my my leg motion has become quick and firm enough to allow me to solo this weekend.
Between daily visits to the gym in the building and my twice-weekly trips to PT/OT up at Columbia, I’ve gotten a lot stronger and steadier. On a steady diet of Everything Around Me That Isn’t Moving, I’ve gained back about a pound a week, creeping slowly back towards my body’s usual set point. I’ll be curious to see if I level out at the same weight I’ve had since high school, or whether habit and momentum will carry me still heavier. (Bill, I know, is rooting for the latter.) I’ve started shucking my crutches – at home I don’t use them at all, and I only bring one out with me when I leave to walk the uneven streets and steps of New York.
Now if only my workplace would resolve the bureaucratic SNAFUs necessary for me to return to work… I’ve got more to say on that, but it’s time to hit the road.