Our weekly series about life with CFS.
I was in the city on Saturday. It was lovely to be out, lovely to be back in town. I felt human - normal!
People were everywhere: hip young couples, families with children, retirees - all enjoying strolls in the cold sunshine. While my husband wrangled my wheelchair from the trunk and my mother navigated the access ramps, everyone went about their Saturdays. I remember what that felt like.
I remember walking 18 city blocks to see a movie, and then walking 18 city blocks home. Why take the bus on a nice day? I remember walking from my apartment to my office, coffee in hand. Or hiking eight miles. Or spending a day wandering a European city. I remember the freedom.
I can pinpoint the entry of CFS into my life down to a span of hours. That morning, I had walked to work as usual. That evening, I struggled to make the same walk home. The day before falling ill, I spent an hour on the treadmill at 5 in the morning. After falling ill, it was only my pride that prevented me from taking cabs to travel the six blocks from home to work.
My time in the city was bittersweet. I am so grateful that I could enjoy a museum exhibit. But reminders of what I have lost were everywhere. It is challenging to stay focused on my gratitude, and not get mired in grief for my old life.