Last week I wrote a post about a horribly aggravating morning spent in a waiting room for an appointment with my orthopedic surgeon. I’ve spent more time there in the last three months than I’d like to calculate. It is not an inspiring space. On January 9th, my surgeon confirmed with me what my physiotherapist and I had been pretty confident about: I wouldn’t need surgery to fix my tears in my lateral and anterior menisci and partial tear on my right ACL in my knee. I will need to continue to exercise and stretch and push myself (harder) to remind my knee cap that it can, in fact, move up higher to allow me to fully extend and straighten my leg. There is work to be done, but I’m walking again. Yesterday I even left my apartment without my knee brace accidentally, and it wasn’t more terrifying than it was for any other Torontonian navigating the wet ice on the roads and walkways.
So, last week, after leaving the hospital following a languid morning of waiting, I was a new woman. My walk home was back to a normal pace, and my pauses were from finding and appreciating aesthetic treasures rather than needing to give my body a rest.
Shadow chasing never felt so inspired: