Sometimes an ordinary, daily thing in our lives can come to mean so much more to us - for example, stairs.
When I was a toddler, my mother, baby sister in a stroller, and I were in a department store. We stepped onto an escalator going up. I was tired from a long day of shopping, so at some point, I sat down. As we reached the top, the part of the escalator where the steps disappear to go around and come out at the bottom of the escalator caught my dress (most women and girls wore dresses back then most of the time) and started sucking it . . . and me . . . into the mechanical bowels of the escalator. Lots of screaming ensued with men jumping over to help, someone ripping my dress off, and my mother clutching me to her while we all watched my dress disappear under the metal plate along with the escalator steps. (There are now protections in place to prevent this.)
I have no memory of this. Probably a good thing. However, I do have a fear of stepping onto a down escalator. I can get on an up escalator with no problem. But standing at the top of a down escalator and staring at the steps emerging from under the metal plate to descend downward causes waves of fear and dread. Danger alarms go off in my head. (YOU'RE GOING TO DIE!) My stomach twists and my heart beats faster. I have to take a deep breath, look down, and concentrate on those steps coming out. I actually try to jump over the one coming out as I walk onto the steps. Not exactly a safe thing to do, but that's what I have to do.
In my twenties, I mentioned this phobia to my mother. She said, "It makes sense you would feel that way." I asked why. She said, "You don't remember?" After shaking my head, she filled in my memory gap.
I have a much better relationship with normal stairs, probably because they don't move. (As is proper!) As a 6-7 year old, I remember my sister and I pretending that the stairway to our basement was a cool house with multiple levels. We would carefully set dishes and dolls along the steps, much to the chagrin of our parents trying to navigate the vertical obstacle course.
How many of us have memories of secretly sliding in glee down the stairs on our stomachs or bottoms when mom or dad was not looking? Our first amusement ride!
As an adult, in those homes where we've had stairs, I occasionally sit halfway down and just think. (Some metaphorical meaning of our lives on different levels???) It is quiet and warm, with no distractions.
The Point of This Post
Since developing UC, stairs have evolved into another use for me. They have become a bellwether of my overall health.
When I first developed symptoms and became very sick, I could not do stairs. Oh, I probably could have sat down and slid (or tumbled) to the bottom, but I never would have been able to climb up. I couldn't even stand straight.
After diagnosis and medication, including prednisone, I finally started feeling better. After three weeks I was able to vacuum my house! (A big step, believe me.) I remember needing something from the basement and started to look for my husband to ask him to get it. But then, I realized that I had just vacuumed. I had to stop and rest a couple of times, but I did it. Could I go down the stairs?
I grasped the railing with both hands and lowered my foot. Then my other foot. Then I did it again. I went slow, carefully. My muscles were weak and my balance was off. But I made it.
Smiling, I retrieved the item I needed, then returned to the stairway to head back up. I grabbed the railing again, placed my foot on the bottom step, and pulled. Then I discovered something.
Walking UP stairs is WAY harder than walking down.
My arms were like spaghetti. My legs wobbled. My body felt like it weighed three hundred pounds. (I'm a small, petite woman.) I was going to call out for my husband when I decided to employ a long-used strategy of small children.
I crawled up the stairs . . . s-l-o-w-l-y.
Okay, not ready for full-fledged stair ascending.
However, that was the beginning of my learning that even if I felt basically okay, I could get a better sense of how my body was actually doing by how well I could go up and down the stairs.
Can I WALK up the stairs? Do I have to use both hands to pull myself up? Do I only need one hand? Can I walk up the stairs without touching the rail at all? How fast can I walk up the stairs without touching the railing? (For test purposes only. I am not a daredevil.)
How much assistance do I need to walk down the stairs? How much do I need to rely on the railing and gravity?
The stairs help me gauge the progress or deterioration of my condition. They help me assess muscle strength and overall balance.
The other day, I was in the basement and went to the stairs to go up. I paused, scanned the steps rising upwards, and smiled.
Who knew that such a normal part of a house would mean something more to me?
And then I ran up the stairs, without using the railing.
Sometimes it's just a flight of stairs. Sometimes it causes fear, and other times causes childhood fun and grown-up satisfaction. Sometimes, it's a health monitor. But sometimes, it's a symbol of a battle won. (Still working on winning the war.)
Take that, escalators!
© Colitis Senioritis 2024
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