Thursday, September 20, 2012
On days when my leg aches, my heart aches more.
I woke up this morning same as every morning, reaching for my crutches, swinging my leg down. It shivered with a jolt of pain that then settled in as a quiet, throbbing ache. Unable to stomp my feet, I pound my crutches on the floor, as if I’m stomping them. Then the heartache comes.
It starts as an uneasiness in my belly, uneasiness which rolls into an iron, spiked ball like the kind you see on maces in medieval pictures. The ball is dragged by a chain, up my throat, and lodges in my chest. With very breath, I feel the spikes stab deeper, pushing into my lungs so I can’t get air, pressing into my heart so that I double over.
The leg pain is real. The stomach-throat-heart-and-lung pain is in my mind, and that makes it worse.
Oh, Anne. Why you?
Btw, this is a huge leap from the why me’s I felt first after the accident. Back then, my leg hurt so bad, it was like a hot, sharp sword was thrust through my knee and twisted. Twisted and twisted, like my brain, twisting and twisting through the events that led up to the accident that led up to my ruined leg and …
Deep breath. Lying back down in bed, I make myself face the truth. The accident ruined my leg, but it killed Anne.
And it was my fault.