Some days it seems that my own body is my worst enemy. I can tell it what to do and I might as well be talking to the wind. Tonight I got down in the floor to change the bag on the vacuum cleaner. Once that was done, I got back up . . . or tried to. My brain mocked me by asking if I’d thought it would be that easy to get up from the floor? My son offered to help me up and that just made matters worse. I didn’t need any help . . . did I?
I can be sitting perfectly still and suddenly there is a twinge of pain that strikes me in places I hadn’t even considered having anything wrong with them. Then there’s other times I should feel pain – I see I’ve cut myself, but didn’t feel it when it happened.
I have a knee that buckles without warning and will work perfectly well most of the time, but once in awhile when I’m going up stairs, it decides to try to make me fall. I hold onto rails when going up and down because I never know when it will happen.
Then there’s the blood sugar problem I have. My eyes will blur and when I check, my blood sugar has rocketed upward.
One of my hands refuses to fold into a fist from time to time. It’s stiff and it’s a good thing I have a patient (she’s old too) dog when the fingers on that hand are refusing to work right and I’m trying to hook my dog to her leash so we can hobble out for a walk.
Then there are the surprise events when everything seems fine and some new part of my body will suddenly rebel.
What was that old saying . . . “We’ve met the enemy and he is us” by Walt Kelly . . . well, to paraphrase that, I’ve met the enemy and I am housed in it.