I can hobble around now a little bit without it being a big huge fucking deal. I have to go really slow, it's unsteady going, and my foot and calf are spasming like crazy. I'm still most comfortable in the wheelchair in the house, but I'm going to make myself walk more and more.
I get to see things in my house from up high again -- I know it's only been a couple of weeks in the chair, but it all seems very strange.
About every 15 minutes I'm stretching my legs carefully but firmly. My right leg feels like a contradictory set of rubber bands. I can't stretch one set without almost breaking other sets. Here is where I think I need either OT or PT or both. Instead of just flailing around every few seconds trying to hurt slightly less, which is what I normally do and what makes me fidget like hell, I could approach this periodically with a set of deliberate stretches.
This morning I finished Glasshouse. I really loved it though I went in with a fair amount of suspicion and hype-detectors on full. No - it was fabulous. Difficult in all the ways I like books to be difficult - it was painful to read because of the horrible way it's about us and our culture and time, about gender & hegemony. Also, unreliable narrators rock! Now I'm reading Smart House (1989) by Kate Wilhelm. It's doing a good job so far with the young computer geniuses & a murder mystery. It is funny to see what books Zond-7 and I have made each other read. He has thrown Stross and Banks at me, Kevin Kelly and that Gaiome book (that one partly to see me bristle up with outrage at its science fictional ending bits) and I gave him Illicit Passage, Book of the New Sun, an Icelandic saga, and I can't think what else.
My mom-in-law sent a small lumpy mysterious package which turned out to be 8 different kinds of extremely fancy chocolate suitable for a jaded bitch stuck in bed.