Anyways, one foot went left, the other right, and it looked like I was going down for the count. Hubby called out in alarm. I bent my knees, stooped down, and scrambled like a scrum skater in front of the net. I did not go down. I did not go down!
|With Naomi Last Night in Front of Skinny Fun-house Mirrors|
It is the next morning and I still feel great about this. You see, the first time I went down this winter was in a hospital parking-lot last October, during one of our freaky snow storms. My knee hit hard, but nothing broke thank God. That darned knee has taken forever to heal, though, and is still swollen by a touch of bursitis. Jarring it leaves me blind with pain. Even worse, I've landed three more times on that accursed knee, once in the Bariatric Unit waiting room. So embarrassing.
About that Bariatric Unit. Which is also responsible for my triumphant euphoria this morning. I am signed up for surgery to help me with my weight loss. Success with this sort of surgery is dependent on lifestyle change, so I have been counting calories, counting everything in fact, attending classes, talking to my nurse, talking to dietitians and losing weight.
I've lost weight. A lot of weight.
I'm a lighter old lady, down a full dress size this week.
Lighter, stronger, and more mobile, which means I can recover from a slippery situation. I confidence this gives me, I tell you, I feel great.