The black hole

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I came across this poem the other day.

Autobiography in Five Short Chapters

By Portia Nelson

I

I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk
I fall in.
I am lost … I am helpless.
It isn’t my fault.
It takes me forever to find a way out.

II

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don’t see it.
I fall in again.
I can’t believe I am in the same place
but, it isn’t my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.

III

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in … it’s a habit.
my eyes are open
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.

IV

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

V

I walk down another street.

Copyright (c) 1993, by Portia Nelson from the book There’s A Hole in My Sidewalk. Reproduced with kind permission from Beyond Words Publishing, Hillsboro, Oregon.

I’ve been walking down other streets for a while now. Cheerfulness Street; Hope Street; Gratitude Street; It Is What It Is Street – always finding myself at this crossroads and choosing a different way. It’s always been there lurking though. A few days ago I suddenly found myself back here though. I would have chosen to walk around the hole perhaps, but last night I fell in. 

I’m not inexperienced – I have steps in my hole – I can climb out usually, but it feels too enticing to just stay here in the dark, and the steps to get out are slippery.

It didn’t take much to tip the balance either. A couple of weeks of not getting out at all (on top of four months of being stuck in the same house, same room, same chair day in day out), my husband away at the weekend so extra time on my own, a reminder that my weekend might have been broken up by visitors – except I don’t know anyone here and so don’t see anyone, and my husband announcing he both was going to be spending time indefinitely further away from the work site we expected and that he had to be there for an earlier meeting today. Just 1/2 hour extra time alone – but that’s all it took. The little jab that lost me my balance and pulled me in. The realisation – the truth of the situation I am in – I am housebound, alone and isolated. The only people I have are my husband at work, who could do without this, my son who I am supposed to be carer for, and the cat who only  really cares for whoever can bend down and feed her. I was even shouting at her yesterday for running in and out of the house, making me get up and open and close doors. The truth is perhaps that I was envious that she could run in and out of doors and visit different places.

It’s not a good week. On Monday I was supposed, finally four months after dislocations, to have the first of my surgery and have the hip that repeatedly dislocated revised. The metal levels in my blood, the damage to both hips seen on MRI, the repeated dislocations, all added up to getting it, then the other hip, out as soon as possible. Except my blood pressure is unexpectedly dangerously high. No amount of – but it could be the metal causing this, you could do a spinal so my BP drops – was going to sway the surgeon and the anaesthetist.

So here I still am – still waiting, still on my own, still not able to complete an entire task on my own, still on hippy rules, still waiting for that next misstep that dislocates one or other hip. Still in my black hole looking for the energy and motivation again to get out.

Or even just a friendly helping hand.

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