My Life In Limbo
Sometimes I feel like I’m a useless plastic bag, flopping about in the waves of a fundamentally broken healthcare system.
I almost fell up the steps today, coming back to my front door. In that one frightful moment, as my cane slipped across the slick wet and watery wood, it’s as if the whole of my being shrieked, “NOOO!!!”
No! You cannot afford another fall. No, this cannot be happening. Not another setback. No.
It felt like a rare miracle, then, when I was able to catch myself with my own slipping cane. I was able to stand myself upright and avoid a catastrophe. I think I might have slightly tweaked my left knee, but that’s already been damaged for a while.
Thankfully, I unlocked the door and made it into the safety of our apartment, where I heaved a great sigh of relief.
Our gorgeous cat, Sapphire, greeted me at the door. She’s used to this morning routine where I leave with Sophie and return home alone. Lately, I have to convince her quickly that she doesn’t really want to go outside, but the rain is always a helpful deterrent.
Once I shut the door, without fail, this beautiful fluffy cat collapses in a heap, baring her belly and rolling around on the floor like she’s drunk on catnip.
