Well. That was an interesting six weeks.

I finally got cleared by the various Medical Professionals I'm seeing to work out again. That clearance came with caveats galore, though: no running, no jumping, absolutely no plyometrics, nothing high-impact. No heavy lifting. Bending over is strictly limited.

I suppose, given that my neck could've just gone out and left me with limited sensation and movement all over, that some restrictions are reasonable. It was still frustrating. More on that in a moment--for now, let's recap the First Workout In Forever.

For starters, Atilla showed up with a short haircut. Her hair had been down to her waist, but she cut it--herself!--into a really cute pixie. Just looking at her made me want to head down to Ye Olde Hair Salon and get mine chopped. I'm waiting for the feeling to go away.

I tried bicep curls with a measly eight pounds. On my right side, I could do the full three sets of twenty, no problem. On the left, where I'm still lacking sensation and strength, I managed a total of fourteen: eight the first time and six the second. The third set, I couldn't manage to lift the weight at all. It's a weird thing to have happen: your brain is sending messages to your muscle, and you're fully aware of that, but the muscle is just plain out to lunch. There's no contraction, no effort, nothing. It's a total blank.

So we worked mostly on legs and core. Which is fine; I'm not into going balls-to-the-wall any longer just to prove I can.

And that brings me to the main point of the last six weeks. I've been learning to be patient, to be humble, and to ask for help when I need it. None of these things are natural for me in the least, but all of them have become necessary.

My yard was already getting overgrown when I got hurt, but it still took me two weeks to muster the courage (and swallow my pride) to ask my neighbor to mow it for me. I'm no longer trying to move heavy patients by myself or with just one other person to help. When it comes to what my average day off is like, things have really changed. Seven weeks ago, I'd've done a hard workout in the morning--enough to make me want to vomit--then mowed both yards and maybe cleaned house as well.

Today, I did a light workout. Then I showered. And that will be it for the day. The rest of the day I'll spend either cooking for the week, or painting my toenails, or reading.

The days of thousand-calories-burned workouts are probably over forever. That bothers me more than I thought it would; it's surprising how much I'd come to depend on the feeling that I could do damn near anything. I lifted heavier, ran faster (I was just able to run again when this neck thing happened), and was more agile than any of Atilla's other clients, despite being much heavier than all of them. Being that fucking tough was a point of pride for me. If Atilla couldn't lift the weight I was pressing, I knew I was on the right track.

No more. (Dammit!) Now I have to keep in mind that I have a really serious, potentially chronic, only-partly-fixable-with-surgery injury in a place that, should that injury get worse, could be catastrophic. Necks should not be messed with under any circumstances.

I'm coming to terms with it. I'm coming to terms with the fact that I have to ask for help at work, in a business and on a unit where the standard for toughness is set by twenty-six-year-old residents who never sleep. I'm slowly, slowly coming to terms with the fact that I am forty years old, no matter that I feel no older than 27, and shit is wearing out. I'm facing the fact that I might not be able, going forward, to do everything that I want to do when I want to do it.

Because honestly? I'd much rather be out trimming back the rose bushes than typing this. I just know I can't and still expect to be functional in the morning.

The first three weeks of this were hell. I couldn't move the damn arm at all, not in any useful way, and had to take a nap--I am not kidding--after every shower, it was so exhausting. The second three weeks were a lesson in learning how to do things differently. I'm going to have some hellacious accessory muscles on this left side, thanks to nearly a month of having to steer primarily with my lats and neck muscles.

Even now, six weeks out, when I'm recovering as quickly as expected, I still have very limited function in my left arm at the end of the day. My left forearm and part of my hand is still numb after twelve hours of starting IVs and working on the computer. Sometimes my hand just flops around without warning, like I've got a dying fish at the end of my wrist. And sometimes (thankfully, it's rare any more) the whole left side of my back hurts so badly that nothing will fix it except lying atop a variety of frozen food bags for half an hour at a stretch.

We'll see how it goes. The first three weeks, I was mostly depressed and drinking. This second three weeks has been much more productive, and much better for me mentally.

The whole trouble has been in learning that I am human, and thus fallible.