Incremental, Indisciminate Improvement (Is Still Progress)

Like the procedure itself, my own personal improvement will take time. I remember when I first had the stem cell transplant and watched Dr. Burt diagram stairs to illustrate the sort of progress I could expect. The good news is that there are no valleys in the rudimentary drawing. The unfortunate but realistic outlook prepared me for the uphill (no pun intended) slog that lies ahead--for the next few years. Furthermore, I have a sneaking suspicion that the study's early findings, which were culled when some of the older, first patients started, in no way should construe expectations. Patience is both elusive and obnoxious, but a necessity.

Small instances of different behavior creep up every so often. To anyone else, I may appear to be the same as I was before I checked into the hospital. I have not emerged from that exercise in suspended animation as a new person. I still have most of my old symptoms. I still have trouble with fatigue, but apparently this is standard when it comes to this thing. To be more explicit, I still also would rather not walk for an extended period of time, and my poor muscle coordination validates suspicion of something wrong pathologically.

However, I've noticed a few behaviors that my body mechanically does in order to expand its sensory parameters. I am much more willing to perform certain motions than I was before. For instance, here in the Midwest ice is a problem from December through mid-March. (It could be more or less than that, and I'm only guessing as to the length of winter.) I've dealt with enough black ice to know that appearances can be very deceiving when it comes to ice and asphalt. Ice forms on roads, and can be so thin, translucent, and hard that it is impossible to discern. It may show up when you assumed it's not there. At this point, I assume everything is black ice, so I cannot be surprised by its existence anywhere. The other day, prior to occupational therapy (in the same place that I had physical therapy), I rolled my eyes at the blast of cold air that hit me once I stepped outside. There was definitely ice outside, but I would not let apprehension regarding its location keep me sequestered. I had an appointment to keep. So, I stumbled cautiously to the car.

I moved easily to the door, and sat down eventually, having traversed the opposite but equally perilous equivalent of hot coals. It was a bitch, but I have only really contemplated the danger in retrospect. One foot moved (moves) in front of the other, and I did this again and again without contemplating the implications of a traumatic incident. This kind of bold, automatic movement happens at various other times, as well. If I'm brushing my teeth and pitch to one side, I will grab a wall or reach a hand out for an available stationary object that I can clutch. Most of the time, I encounter no problems, but every so often a reference point may move. When this happens, my legs shift quickly to prevent me from falling down. (I've said it before, but I have not fallen, and I get asked that question a lot.)

Some exercises in occupational therapy do this as well. Even though I've only been going for a week now, I do things more effortlessly and easily than even I did a few days prior. One exercise, in particular, drives me nuts but I still do it. For one thing, I figure that I have nothing better to do. For another, it actually helps. There's a plain wooden board, not unlike one for cutting, with holes drilled into it. I have to place three different components into each one. First, there's a long, thin stainless steel (all of these things are stainless steel--which gets annoying with the pragmatic magnet at the bottom of the dish that holds them) rod that I stick in the hole (get your snickers out now). Then, a small, thin washer goes over that, followed by a short tube that goes over everything and is the last component to this stubby construction. I switch fingers for each set of pieces, and then I alternate hands at the end of each row.

There are about 25 holes for each hand, and I then remove each bit individually once I finish. My therapist told me that she caught one of her other patients overturning the board in order to expedite the tedious exercise. I get this--I would be lying if I said that I didn't have the same impulse. At the same time, I feel that I'd be cheating myself. Yes, it's annoying and tedious and all of that, but I still do everything to its full completion. Who would I be kidding if I didn't? It's true that it's a pain in the ass, but I can't fake progress at this stage.

That's not entirely accurate. I can, but what would be the point? She doesn't time me, because it would likely be a futile tactic of intimidation. I don't care about the particulars of my progress, but I know that it's there.

R