The First Landing

Most blogs I know are written by people who are out there in the world having great adventures. Their family and friends want to hear all the details. I don't know that anyone wants to hear the details of my current adventure and I could just continue to write in my journal. But on the odd chance that others may be along for the ride and want to compare notes, or have suggestions of detours I may want to take - this might be a good idea. PPS stands for Post-Polio Syndrome or post polio survival if you prefer. I don't like either term for many reasons, the most important of which is that I dislike the word polio intensely.

Where to begin? I suppose a bit of history would be appropriate. Polio found me when I was 4 months old, living my newborn bliss in Rochester, N. Y. in 1944. After the acute phase I took on the challenge of a Dennis Brown brace, a worthy opponent consisting of two tiny shoes attached to a metal bar between. I knocked it to oblivion. I learned to walk in it and then graduated to a short right leg brace most remembered for its weight. It consisted of heavy metal bars and good sturdy leather. Then I forgot about polio. Life was good and normal until the 1980's when I began to notice muscle fatigue in my arms with the simple acts of brushing my hair or carrying a bag of groceries. Eventually, I accepted the diagnosis of post-polio syndrome, went back into a leg brace, retired from my Nursing career and had a brief affair with a motorized scooter.

Now I live in the Land of Post Polio. It's a good place in which to temper the mind and spirit and indulge in philosphy - at least on a good day. On a bad day, of which there are many, it is a place from which to scream at the heavens that this is simply too hard. And, by the way, it isn't fair! Except that you don't scream from here. The latest I've heard on how to handle the challenge of post polio is to find that elusive line between exercising the muscles enough to keep them useful and over-taxing them causing more damage to the already compromised system. Have you noticed how skinny that line is? And it moves! One day 30 minutes of gardening may be workable, another day 5 minutes gives a clear signal that I have overshot the mark.
I might add, however, that I do not really follow the literature on how to treat post-polio. One reason is that I have significant argument with Western modern medicine, another probably has to do with denial. So perhaps one of my fellow travelers has learned something new on the subject.

Spring is calling and it is absolutely beautiful here in the Northwest. There are millions of weeds to pull, shovel loads of compost to move, new plants to nestle into place and I want to do it all! I love being out where I can mingle with the birds who sit in the branches discussing the findings of new berries on bushes or the lastest refill of seeds in the feeder. I love strutting around with my gardener's belt weighed down by pruners and tools of weed destruction! But right now, my hands are my biggest challenge. Have you ever noticed how hard it is to get through a simple day - to say nothing of the whole business of gardening - without using your hands? It's the pincer grasp that is most painful. It sends shock waves of pain through my thumbs. Not pleasant at all.Sometimes I am defiant and continue to insist I can and will accomplish whatever small task I am taking on. Usually, the cost is too high and I pay it for hours afterwards.

I want this trip to the Land of Post Polio to be an adventureand I like a challenge. But I like to win. It occurs to me that perhaps some new definitions are needed - for words like "win". So here the first flight of PPS has landed at the dictionary. Fortunately, I like dictionaries a great deal.