I once had an editor who always made fun of the way I walked.
He was from the south, and he spoke with a slow drawl; I'm from the Midwest, and I talk fast and walk fast - usually with a strong sense of purpose.
"Robinson," he'd say, laughing, using my maiden name. "Look at you. You're walkin' like you're off to stomp a snake."
It cracked me up. I just assumed he was crazy.
Until recently; until I got sick. I wasn't stomping any snakes. I walked slowly and deliberately, rattled by abdominal pain caused by fibroids and dulled by painkillers.
I slept a lot, too. And rumor has it I might have been a bit cranky.
Then I had surgery a few weeks ago. I didn't really want it; I was terrified. But I didn't feel like I had a choice. So I shut my eyes, crossed my fingers and said a few prayers before I went under.
That was about four weeks ago. Recovery hasn't been as bad as I thought it would be, but I was still walking on proverbial eggshells, afraid I'd pull a stitch or strain ... something.
But yesterday, I noticed it. I was in the grocery store, and I was walking fast. I was myself again. I wasn't stooped over and sweating; I wasn't in pain. It was such a relief.
It was kind of like how you feel when you've had a cold for weeks and weeks and then one day, you realize - it's gone. You can breathe again.
I got tired quickly; but it felt great while it lasted.
I think I'm getting back to business - ready to stomp those snakes.