From the early hour when the wind buffeting against the house awakened me, the risks of ambulation have occupied the back of my mind.  I’ve been blown over while trying to walk from my car to the courthouse.  I weigh about five more pounds than I did on that particular blustery day, when I struggled to climb the wheelchair ramp of the downtown courthouse.  Today’s hearing lies to the east, in Independence, and the distance from the curb to the door there is not as great.  Still, unless I get there an hour early to assure a close parking spot, I run the risk of being blown away.

I eat my yogurt and watch a few minutes of an adaptive yoga video while browsing the NYT online.  Hauling myself from the breakfast table, I spend fifteen minutes stretching, pushing my muscles, holding my head still, trying to avoid dizziness.  A half hour later, I pull clothes from the washer/dryer unit in the front sitting room and drag the laundry upstairs.

Now I hear the wind whipping through my neighborhood.  The trees bend to its will.  News of the presidential primaries blasts from the radio.  I have little interest in the analysis.  I ruminate about wearing heavy shoes for stability; and the relative merits of carrying a heavy bag.  I could use the ballast but might struggle from the weight.  Certainly I will fatigue.  Which is better? I ask myself.  Safe navigation or lightness of being?

There’s always a down-side to every solution.  But I’m not complaining.  I keenly feel my blessings this month.  It’s a bittersweet month — anniversaries, birthdays, heart-wrenching memories.  But also survival.  My six-month death sentence fell on my head from the mouth of a pulmonologist in February of 1998.  He died a year later; I’m nearing my eighteenth year since his pronouncement.

It’s the eighth day of the twenty-fifth month of My Year Without Complaining.  Life continues.

My ongoing FEBRUARY POSTSCRIPTS:

Happy Birthday to my shared daughter Kim Fariello!