Slow Down

One of my fondest memories as a child is of us being at the Zoo Lake (one of our local parks), with my dad pace walking and us as children running to keep up.  My father would walk so fast, that even though we were running we could not keep up.

I seem to have inherited this habit of walking fast from my father, and he seems to have gone slower and I have gone faster. When I walk in the mall with my babes, I have to hold her hand or I would walk out ahead of her.  Especially if I’m on a phone call. It has just become a way of life for me.  When I walk up the stairs to our bedroom, I would take two to three steps at a time.  I had taken on the approach that if I walk slowly that I’m wasting time.  Everything has to happen quickly, to allow time to do the next thing.

During the past three months, I found myself being out of breath coming up the stairs to our bedroom.  I found it unusual, thinking that “I’m getting old”.  Then I found that making the bed caused me to be out of breath.  Again I thought this to be strange but did not put too much thought into it.  You know how they talk about hindsight being 20/20? Well, looking back now, I should have had it checked out.  It all makes sense now.

While I was in hospital prof Sewllal came to see me on one of his rounds. I had just come out of the bathroom, and said to him, “sorry, I just quickly went to the bathroom.” “No!” he said, “sloooowly go to the bathroom.”  He reminded me that everything that I do in the next six to eight weeks, I need to do slowly.  This is quite an adjustment for me.  I would often joke and say that I forget that I’m not in my 20s anymore.  It appears that I now have to take that “joke” seriously.  The statement to “slow down” appears to be easier said than done.

In preparation for my coming home from the hospital, Dr. Lazarus arranged a few sessions with the hospital physiotherapist for me. On the first day, we took a walk together to the entrance to the ward that I was in.  This included a fairly long passage, which was a pretty nice walk, especially after having been in bed for a week.  As we walked out of my room, the physiotherapist asked me what was wrong with my leg.  I replied, “nothing.” She asked me why I was holding my leg.  To this, I replied that I was forcing myself to walk slowly.  This was the only way I could think of to consciously walk slowly.  And so the process started of “forcing” myself to do things slowly.

On returning home it is even more difficult to do things slowly.  I am in familiar surroundings, where I am used to doing things in a certain way.  Now I have to do it slowly, and some things I am even not allowed to do.  What makes it worse is the fact that I don’t physically feel sick.  When you’ve injured your leg or your arm, you are conscious of the fact that you must walk slowly or avoid lifting.  However, having these internal “matters”, you are aware that you need to take it easy.  You also know the consequences of not taking it easy.  But keeping your patience in check when something needs doing, is not so easy.