Rehab: come to live again

I arrived early this morning ready to go. Weighed in and stood by the blood pressure machine. I was too early. Told to sit and wait of course with the kindest of tones, ‘please’.

Which I did. Others came in, weighed themselves, sat. Finally, the blood pressures taken, the sticky tabs of the heart monitor wires positioned, the sagging white sacs hung from our necks within which the monitors placed.

Some walk the track, some the treadmills, some pedaling the nustep, rowers, bikers all of us tracking as if we are going somewhere, as if we know where we are going. Behind us the wall fills with our etches. Barb’s heart is number 5. The tracings mean I am alive. The heart is murmuring in a new way. It ‘s learning to beat without fear. To beat without skipping, to beat without muttering, 

All of us going nowhere, working so hard at it, hoping that place is a future far away, hoping it ‘s a place where our children grow up, where our mother’s can kiss our heads, where bosses shake our hands. Walking, treading, biking, upping the inclines as we up the stakes.

Rehab. Come to live again.