This is a personal log. It’s an account from my perspective. Some readers may know me, may feature in my retelling and may disagree with what I’ve written. But as I say this is my story from my perspective. This is how I see it and how I’ve come to terms with where I am now.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Walls

I’m a very guarded person.  In my head I’m a master builder.  I build walls.  I build walls to keep people out.  To protect myself.  To keep me safe.  I don’t apologise for it.  That’s me.  When I get to know people I let some of those walls down.  For some people I open windows.  Others get doors.  The lucky ones get swinging Texan style saloon doors.  Others get turrets so that they can see over the walls.  I like turrets.  There’s not enough turrets left in the world.  There are, however, quite a few in my head because in my head I’m a master builder.

This blog, for the moment anyway, is a window.  I’m letting people in.  I don’t know how long for.  At some point I may board it up.  At some point I may just pull the curtains.  But for the moment anyway it’s open and there’s a nice cool breeze on the air.  There’s a scent of change and I’m enjoying it. 

Before I continue looking back I need to explain these walls.  I need to explain them because they can and do warp my thinking.  Already I’ve painted a picture of my spinal consultant as some sort of ‘big bad’.  But she’s not.  From the moment she agreed to take me to rehab every decision she made was based on what she believed was in my best interest.  I disagreed with some of them, challenged others and on occasion had to agree with them.  But everything she did was in, what she believed, my best interest.

The problem though is that by this time, not only had the walls been built but the concrete lorries had been in and left two tons of concrete to reinforce the walls.  To her credit, every time she came to see me she brought her chisel.  She chipped away each time we spoke, but she never made it through.  We never truly bonded.  But rather than chisel her way through I think what she did was sculpt.  She hammered and chipped and left her mark.

By the time I was leaving hospital I had a real respect, not just for her, but also for her thoughts and reasoning’s for the course that we took.  By the time I was leaving hospital I like to think that she had the same respect for me.  



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