The artificial recovery.

This week, I have realised how much my disability has prevented me from doing.  I’ve been on steroids for the past five days, dropping to a half-dose for the next five.  I hate the rapid-heart rate, the insomnia, my quick temper, but boy is the rest great.  I never thought that I would ever choose a basket over a trolley at the supermarket again.  Or that I wouldn’t be phased about not getting a parking space close to the school.  Or carry in four cups of tea to my relations yesterday.  I also found myself recalling the details I had learned that day about the WW1 Battle of Loos.  Details that would have normally been a hazy mush of wonderings.  I find myself doing more than usual for everybody, and not noticing it’s just too hard.  It’s like I’ve been given a reminder of the way things were.

But I know it’s a slightly cruel, passing taste of a better life.  Still, I intend to savour it. and to remember that all the people, all the places, all the assurances are still there when I come out the other side.  And one day, maybe that blissful recovery will arrive and stay for good.

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