Maria and I returned to Albany this morning for the first time since my surgery July 1, it was a steaming hot and sticky day – there was no time for me to walk in the morning, and I think the heat might have stopped me. I’m not supposed to walk in hot weather – me and the New York Carriage Horses. I spent several hours at the Diabetes Clinic at the Albany Medical Center, they gave me the most thorough going over I can ever  remember having outside of the hospital.

Maria and I were both very quiet as we drove back into Albany. I still dream about my ambulance right from Glens Falls, it was not a happy memory. I think it was harder for Maria, having to watch me hauled around in wheelchairs and ambulances, and she had to see me in the recovery room. I know that was hard for her.

The trip to Albany was a productive and informative. My blood pressure was excellent – 110 over 50, my heart is strong and steady, my scars healing well, they asked me scores of questions about my life, medical history, lifestyle, drew lots of blood, we talked diet, blood sugar, exercise and medication. It was informative and  exhausting. Afterwards, Maria and I stopped at a Sushi place downtown. I told her I  felt I hadn’t returned to myself yet, I didn’t really feel like me.

I am glad I went to the diabetic clinic, it is good to talk to people who deal with this disease every day. One nurse told me I must never walk barefoot, ever. I said I would walk barefoot, every day. There is plenty of feeling in my feet, my cuts and bumps heal readily. Another nurse told me diabetes should never snack — three meals a day is enough. I said that was bad advice, I have healthy snacks every day – apples and cottage cheese, melon and yoghurt. I will keep on having snacks, that kind of advice drives people away from taking care of themselves.

Otherwise, we got along. Diabetes is a complex disease, it takes many forms, involves many parts of the body – feet, eyes, heart, legs, kidneys. All of my parts are doing very well. But diabetes, like heart disease, is an individual thing, we all have it differently and deal with it differently. There is no one all purpose wisdom for everyone, I have learned, we always have to keep our identity alive.

I learned a lot of things about insulin – I am taking too much, and about balancing the food that I eat. My diet – lean meat, vegetables, fruit, nuts and seeds – is very good, and has been good, but endocrinologists are always learning new things about the body. My A1C number is normal – just where I wanted it to be, yet after open heart surgery they would like it to be higher, something I had not heard. After years of working to keep my blood sugar levels down, I now have to raise them a bit. I’ve lost some weight since the surgery, a friend is selling me a used treadmill for $100, it is coming tomorrow. In the summer and fall, I’ll walk, but in the deep winter here, I suspect the treadmill will be very helpful, I will listen to music on Spotify and walk my butt off inside on this dark and cold mornings.

I don’t like feeling like I am not myself. I have worked hard to be me, feel like me, I want myself to come back. I find it discouraging, not matter how normal it may be. It feels sometimes like they have taken me from me in exchange for a working heart, and what if I don’t ever come back? How do I know I will? How does one weight a soul against a heart?

I am very blessed to be a writer, I think writing every morning grounds me and heals me and steadies me. When I am writing, I do feel like myself, it is such a grounding thing.

Sometimes, in the morning, life seems a bit normal, I get up, figure out a way to take a photo, eat breakfast, take a good walk, meditate, and then – before 8 a.m. – blog, work on my book. I don’t feel like me yet, and I am told this is also quite “normal,” but it feels anything but normal to not feel like myself. I feel guarded, wary, conscious of my healing body and wounds, I feel the familiar symptoms of post-traumatic stress, I am not conscious of feeling depressed, yet I don’t have my regular energy, my passion for things, at least not all of the time. I do some of the time.

This week has been more sobering than the previous ones, they were all about my charging around, walking up hills, doing new things. I hit some limits this week – the Merck Forest trails, the heat and humidity. For all that, I am hopeful and grateful. I am lucky to be alive, lucky my heart was not seriously damaged, lucky I can walk several miles a day, write each morning, begin to take photos again. One day, I am told, I will wake up and feel like myself again. It might be three months, it might be six months, it might be a year. I will be glad to see me again, I think I might just burst into tears.