Okay.

I’m on a funny as I reminisce!

And for a Brucey bonus
it involved a hoist and firefighters –
who’da thought it?

(genuinely never spelt that in my life!)

(Pick your emoji.)

Lucky day, right?

Not quite.

Though, as usual,
I’m bringing humour to a moment of vulnerability and fear.

So this was pretty early on in my neuro physio,
after a lot of work on safe transferring techniques.

You know —

on the commode,
off the commode,

repeat until dignity becomes optional.

I’d progressed to

“Okay brain… remember your feet?”

And jeez — this level involved a harness.

Lots of clippety-clips to a harness later,
armed with a full camel toe
and a determined mindset,
I decided I was ready to dangle.

Bearing in mind all my body knew
was a sit and a hunched over type transfer at this point.

Picture this:
a tall metal frame on wheels,
and me hanging from the top.

It sounds like a crane — it’s not —
but it feels like one.

Basically, it takes the weight off your feet
and allows a kind of supported standing.

How much weight goes through your legs can be adjusted.

So there I was.

Standing.

Well… supported standing.

How cool did that feel?

I was fine —
until my wheelchair,
my trusted steed,
was suddenly across the room.

That was scary.

I hadn’t realised just how reliant I was on it.

Obviously for practical reasons —
but also because it grounded me.

It told me what I could and couldn’t do.
Where my edges were.

And now here I was,
camel toe and all,
being gently rotated in a circle.

I hadn’t turned my body left or right in…
I don’t even know how long.

And suddenly my world was moving.

I felt sick.

Not dramatically —

just that deep,
unsettling nausea
that comes from motion your body hasn’t experienced
in what felt like forever.

A tiny 360-degree turn,
yet somehow monumental.

And then —

something incredible.

My brain started reconnecting with my feet.

Everything in between
joined the conversation too.

This was a big deal.

A huge achievement
in ways that are hard to explain.

I could have opted out through fear.

Deep down,
I didn’t want to feel what I had lost.

I could have said no.

But I wanted to know.

I wanted to feel now

what I could — or couldn’t — do.

Something in me

wanted to remember what standing felt like.

Relaxed.

Supported.

Without fear of falling.

I felt my body again.

Part of me
wept quietly inside.

A much bigger part of me smiled.

(Insert emoji that says moved but not sad.)

This was the beginning of something — though I had no idea what.

Oh. Wait.

I forgot the fire.

So there I am —

dangling,
feeling my feels,
reconnecting with my limbs

and sporting a proper camel toe outage —

when suddenly…

The fire alarm goes off.

Fire doors lock.

Lights flash.

And no —

it’s not a drill.

My wonderful physio clocked my dread immediately.

I was still very much attached to the crane
(yes, it’s a crane now).

We shared a quick
“what are the actual chances?” chuckle

before shifting rapidly into:

Okay.

Unclippety-clip.

And goodbye camel toe,
it’s been emotional.

Drop into quickly placed wheelchair.

And Exit!

Faithful steed reclaimed.

Camel toe
exiting stage left.

The goal?

Avoid interaction with firefighters.

Avoid interaction with any humans.

Because I do not often wear
bright green,
sumo-style hoist pants
in public.

Assisted standing:

completed it mate.

Perceived public humiliation:

narrowly avoided.

Disclaimer: no camels were shamed during the making of this piece.

And all firefighters returned to duty non-disturbed (insert a mixture of laughter, relieved & disappointed emojis!)