Walking on Air
Plus notes on joy from shepherds and addicts
I had been dreading my physiotherapy session last week since I first began neuro rehab over a month ago. My physio, David, had said that he eventually wanted to get me walking on the anti-gravity treadmill, and I had an immediate feeling of panic. My fight-or-flight response almost always leans toward “flight”—but I can’t flee anywhere too quickly these days. I shoved down my anxiety about the treadmill with thoughts like “I probably won’t progress enough to try the treadmill” or “Maybe I can talk him out of the treadmill idea” or “Maybe the treadmill will just disappear out of the gym and that will be the end of this whole notion.” Even my GP, when I told her about my neuro rehab, said: “Oh, hopefully you can work on the anti-gravity machine!” And I wanted to say: “Oh, hopefully NOT!”
Here’s a fun video featuring the physiotherapy practice where I go—and the village where I live! You can almost see my house at about the 1:00 mark!
To understand my anxiety about this machine, I need to rewind back to December 2020. I had been in and out of physical therapy since August for a hamstring injury and then a sciatic nerve compression and then back and hip pain that just would not get better no matter what we tried. I was getting to the point where I could barely walk without pain. So one of the things we tried was the anti-gravity treadmill.
To get on this treadmill, you first put on a nifty pair of neoprene shorts with a plastic peplum, which you can then zip into the machine. That means your lower body is encased in a tent-like apparatus that fills with enough air to reduce the amount of gravity that you’re resisting as you walk or run. It can be a great rehab tool for all sorts of conditions. But it just made me cry. At that time, I could barely put my socks on without pain, so getting into this neoprene outfit was excruciating. Once I was zipped in, with only 20 percent gravity to contend with, I did not stride or jog or run. I was still limping. I was still in pain. I was gasping to endure 10 minutes. Afterward, I tried to walk home—normally a 10-minute stroll. I felt like an alien being who had seen humans walk but hadn’t tried it before: My left hip didn’t want to participate in leg extension, I couldn’t swing my arms in concert with my steps, I felt sore and off-balance, I kept having to pause and recollect myself as if my brain understood walking in theory but my body couldn’t manage it in practice. I made it home and cried. If I can’t even walk on the anti-gravity treadmill, what is wrong with me?
Of course, we found out the answer to that question months later. Something was, in fact, very wrong, with cancer riddling my bones and compressing my spinal cord. By June, I couldn’t walk at all.
Now in December 2021, a year later, my cancer treatment of drugs and radiotherapy has eased much of my pain. I’ve started to see recovery from some of the damage to my spinal cord, and neuro rehab has helped me regain more balance and foot coordination. Thanks to Physio David, I was doing things on a BOSU ball that I thought would be physically impossible just a few weeks ago. So when he said last week that it was time to try the anti-gravity treadmill again, I said, “Sure, let’s give it a try.” I was prepared with waterproof mascara in case I started crying, either from pain or frustration.
Happily, there were no tears. I managed a reasonable 10 minutes of striding (working on my stride length is one of my rehab objectives) and managed to get in and out of my scuba shorts without being a drama queen. Don’t get me wrong—it was tiring, even if it was only 10 minutes with minimal gravity. But it was also a small triumph to tackle this machine that had bruised my spirit a year ago. I still can’t manage the stroll home, but at least I managed to zip into this beast and stride.
Treatment Update and Prayer Notes
While neuro rehab is proceeding step by step, my white blood count is stubbornly refusing to cooperate with my targeted therapy treatment. I was supposed to go to Ninewells today to pick up my next round of meds, but my white count is too low. We’ve agreed to wait two weeks and then try again.
· Pray that my white count will rebound enough to resume treatment in two weeks
· Pray that I will be protected from infection while my white count is so low and the Omicron variant is surging (along other winter viruses and bugs)
· Pray that my neuro rehab will continue to improve my balance, strength, and coordination
A Word about Joy
This past Sunday, many Christian churches lit the third candle of Advent, the candle of joy. I didn’t grow up in a liturgical tradition, and I didn’t know until recently that this third candle is the pink one, and it is also called the Shepherd Candle. The connection is found in Luke 2:8–11:
8 And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. 9 An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. 10 But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. 11 Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord.
When I think of joy, one of my first memories is of a colleague in Chicago. She had emigrated from the Soviet Union in 1989 and become a Christian, and she was going on her first women’s retreat with her church. The following Monday, I asked her how the retreat had been.
“Oh, Heather. It was awful. It was all about joy, joy, joy. Everything joy. I was so miserable!”
She made our office quote board with her dramatic rendition of misery, but I think many of us can relate to how she felt. (And not just about women’s retreats—which is a whole other topic!) Sometimes nothing feels so terrible and unbearable as hearing a chorus shriek that you should be joyful. Where is the space for mourning, for lament, or even for just grinding through daily life? Why place an additional burden of feeling joy? To add dastardliness to the demand, too often our description of joy is shallow and manufactured: it’s a smile through the tears, grin and bear it, believe things all work out in the end, find the silver lining. It’s a positive attitude, or Pharrell Williams’ “Happy.”
I like a good upbeat jam and “Happy” is a fun bop, but none of that is joy. In my own experience of the past six months, joy has arrived unbidden and unexplained—a gift to be recognized and treasured. I can’t give you a full definition or explanation or theological treatise. I can only say that I feel it flickering and sometimes flaming deep in the places beyond words. It doesn’t inoculate against grief, but it tempers it somehow into an ability to be present for the gifts of today without borrowing the sorrows of tomorrow. It redirects my focus from broken bones to beauty and blessing.
This is one reason I love that the joy candle is inserted into the middle of the Advent season. During this time of penitential reflection and preparation, there is a pause—a pink candle—to acknowledge joy. I also love that the joy candle is also the Shepherd Candle. The shepherds are out literally minding their own business when the announcement of the gift of joy breaks into their lives. In one way, nothing changes: they are still shepherds, and they still have to get up the next day and go to work tending sheep. In another way, everything changes: they see Jesus—the good news of great joy for all people—and they are glorifying and praising God.
Jesus, Walk With Me
One of Kanye West’s biggest hits is “Jesus Walks.” Because I do not live in a cave, I knew about the song and watched him perform it at the Grammys. Because I am a giant nerd, most of what I know about the song is from a BBC documentary. That’s where I heard the story behind the song that West samples throughout: the arrangement of the gospel song “Walk with Me,” by the ARC Choir. ARC stands for Addicts Rehabilitation Center, and every member of the choir is an addict who is in the treatment program.
I loved the song so much that I bought their album (available here). If anyone knows anything about having transcendent joy while wading through the murk of life, it’s the singers of the ARC Choir. And as I keep working on walking—literally and spiritually—this song is a prayer: “Jesus, walk with me.”
What a great meditation on joy. Thank you!!
Heather, the misery and apprehension was caused not by the idea of joy but by a whole lot of joyful women! 😊 Most of them probably harbored pain and grief in their hearts. Joy is elusive, but I can be glad about your progress today. Love, prayers, and air hugs from Chicago.