My feet hurt like I’ve been standing on them all day.
They are swollen about the ankles, throbbing up the calves and the tops, where my new unbroken-in shoes bit into my puffy flesh, feel like white hot lava fire every time my nerves try to reconnect.
The head of my fancy hospital bed is canted downward slightly, the foot of the bed is elevated highly and I will spend a bit of time like this to give my feet a head start in finding their balance before I even myself out and go to sleep.
I am fortunate in being able to do this. Most state insurance for disabled folks won’t pay for fancy hospital beds that can do this without a fight. I know. I used to have one of the beds they do pay for. I often woke up with my legs still swollen after days like today.
My everyday is comfy sandals that forgive my feet for swelling, open-leg sweatpants that never-you-mind my waist and SMA/Celiac belly. Cotton shirts that are pretty but breathe.
So it was a shock for my feet when I bound them in off black knee-highs, then pushed them into stiff fancy-ish shoes that hid my toes and sandal tan lines. My derrière feeling equally appalled but somewhat intrigued at having well fitted slacks against them all day. Something about sitting and being properly caressed felt blasphemously confidence inducing. The Girls for once since… October, November… maybe? in soft padded comfort were ready to lead the way. Hair in place of beenie. Mask always. Armor On. World ready.
This Rare form, grown version, world facing person I became this morning, felt pulled from The Wilds but also at home, knowing the sacrifices that will bare down in the coming months.
It is this version that commands attention or respect, depending on who You are. It is this version that makes way and raises up from the devastation, every time. It is this version that will make being out in The Wilds, never-minding the world, possible.
This is the version that is acceptable. This is the version that doesn’t make folks too uncomfortable.
But The Wilds? The Wilds is the one doing The Work. The dirty work, the snot-nosed crying work, the laying in the yard releasing work. The Work no one sees. The Work no one thinks disabled people have or do.
And so, I will be World ready, forward facing through this journey but my heart will always beat in the language of The Wilds.
Stay Free Fam