Walking.
Those
of you who actually read my nonsense on here and Facebook know that I
try to walk everyday. Well, yesterday was no exception.
Usually,
I walk a half mile into the village of Waterford, stop in McGreivey's
for a beer, and walk back. Fine. I'm happy with that, for a guy who
shouldn't be able to walk, who was bed ridden just months ago. No
friggin' way. I was determined. So I walked.
In
the hospital, first it was getting out of bed and into a chair. That
took a lot. You have no idea unless you've been there. But my
stubbornness can be in my favor sometimes, and I thought to myself
that this is bullshit. This isn't happening. Not now. Not ever. Get
up
So
I got out of bed and got myself in a chair. The nurses were not
happy. "You are not supposed to be out of bed!" they'd yell
at me.
Hell.
I'm old. I've been yelled at lots. My mom yelled at me as a little
boy all the time. Yelling has no effect on me.
Then I started
walking up and down the halls of the hospital. That really freaked
the nurses out. They called physical therapy on me. The nurses
quickly learned that yelling doesn't work, so they called in the
professionals at walking. And they walked with me.
One guy
from PT I really liked. He let me be. At first, he had some kind of
a strap around my waist that he would hold on to in case I fell.
Later, he would hang onto my arm. Then he would just walk next to
me. Sure, I'd stagger a bit. My sense of balance was shot. I have
little feeling in my feet which makes walking difficult. I walk like
I'm drunk. I still do.
Eventually, I was released from the
hospital.
Now I have my own apartment. I'd look out the
apartment window wistfully. A nice day. I am going to go for a
walk. Unsure of how far I could go, I would walk a half mile to the
village of Waterford, stop at McGreivey's, have a victory beer, and
walk home. I was very pleased with myself.
Well,
thanks to this pandemic, McGreivey's is closed. But I would walk it
anyway. Non-stop. That is a big deal for a guy who is supposed to
be bed-ridden. But God damnit, I'm doing it. I don't know if it is
my Irish stubbornness or my Polish dumbness, but damn it get out of
my way.
Yesterday,
I went for a walk. Instead of taking a right into the village out of
the Van Schoonhoven Square Senior Apartments, I crossed the street.
There was a lady cleaning up the end of her driveway. I stopped to
chat. Her name is Donna. She and her husband bought the old
Fanucci's gravel pit. Twenty acres of gravel pit. They built a
house in it. I think that is awesome. Who builds a house in a
gravel pit? She said Fanucci stopped digging when they hit water.
They hit the aquifer. Water gushed in. The pond in front of her
house is forty feet deep, she said. I think that is awesome.
Then,
after chatting with Donna, I didn't walk into the village. For some
reason I took a left and walked up the hill. Walking up that hill
was something I always did as a kid. The Middletown Road hill. I
clearly remember walking my bicycle up it as a kid because I couldn't
ride up it. It was a huge accomplishment when I could finally ride
my bicycle up it. It was coming of age.
And
now, at 69 years old, I'm trying to walk it. I can do this. Damn
it. Just walk. I stared at the ground, one foot in front of the
other. Just do it.
I made it up the hill. I walked on, as I
did when I was a kid. I got past Sts. Peter and Paul's cemetery. I
shouldn't try for Swayze Acres though. That's a bit too far, I
thought. What if I run out of steam? I would have to sit someplace
and then someone would find me and call an ambulance or something.
Nope. Not happening. So I walked into St. Mary's cemetery.
I
paid particular attention to the grave stones. Sure, I saw them as a
kid, but I never paid them much mind. Only the Patrignani stone. It
had photos on it of the dead people. I liked that. They were real
people, but now dead.
I
finally made my way back to where my parents are buried. I said
hello. I'm divorced now, I told them. I was alone.
I
walked out of the cemetery and took a left on Middletown Road towards
my apartment. I really wanted to walk Swayze Acres where I grew up,
but I didn't know if I could make it. Not yet. A little at a
time.
I shuffled along as I always do. Past Prospect Hill, to
the hill down to the village of Waterford. Believe it or not, that
was the most difficult part of this little walk. Walking downhill.
I'm glad I had my cane, because without it I would have fallen. But
I made it back, into the apartment building and into my
apartment.
Today, I could barely get out of bed. My legs are
worn out. My knees hurt. My left hip hurts. But I did it. About a
mile and a half yesterday, I figured. I am not going to lay in bed
and wait to die. I am going to try for a shorter walk today. But
then, one day soon, I want to do the Swayze Acres walk. That will be
two miles. I can do this.
