if Uri Geller Can Bend Spoons

I’ve just passed the six-week mark, and something very funny happened — I suddenly longed for a cigarette. Out of the blue! I swear I could even smell it. Now, I haven’t smoked since 2000, and I’ve no intention of going back to the ciggies, but it really shows what this recovery journey does to you. It’s not the cigarette you want, it’s the comfort — something familiar when everything else feels strange.

And speaking of strange, my dreams have taken on a whole new level of oddness. The other night I dreamed about Uri Geller — remember him? The man famous for bending spoons with his mind! Go on, analyse that one!

It doesn’t take Freud to figure it out though — I’ve become slightly obsessed with bending my knee.

I’ve been the model patient, doing everything I’m told, but my knee is still stubbornly slow to bend. At my recent check-up, I sneaked a look at the other people in the waiting room — all on crutches, all bending their knees beautifully. So it wasn’t just in my head. When it came to my turn, the consultant gave me an ultimatum: one week to improve my bend, or he’d have to consider a manipulation under anaesthetic.

Apparently, it’s common enough — but I’d prefer not to, thank you very much.

I’ll admit, I felt a bit crushed. The disappointment, the sense of failure… it hit hard. But by the time we got back to Gorey, I had a plan.

If Uri Geller can bend spoons, I can bend my knee.

So I’ve become my own therapist . I’m telling myself constantly, I can do this — because good old self-talk never hurts. Three times a day I’m doing a new set of exercises prescribed by my physio, pushing the knee as far as I can tolerate.

And — best of all — I’m back in my favourite place: the swimming pool. It’s been a great reunion with my fellow water people. I’m walking up and down, bending my knee every time, and it feels fantastic — physically and mentally. Water is magic, truly. Even if you can’t swim, there’s something healing about just being in it.

And you know what,,,,,all of the above is working.

This journey is full of ups and downs — celebrations of small wins, buckets of self-talk when there aren’t any wins, and a daily reminder that each new day is a step closer to full mobility.

Comparison is the absolute thief of positivity, so I remind myself constantly: we’re all unique, and everyone’s journey is different.

I don’t want to get cocky, but I think I might just be on the right track. Maybe that ultimatum was exactly what I needed.

I’ll keep you posted! I never planned to share so much, but the messages I’m getting are wonderful — and if my story helps someone else, I’m delighted. It’s good to know you’re not alone, to share tips, to laugh in the middle of it all.

The pool is a great place for that — full of fellow warriors [,easy to spot wearing swimwear] comparing scars and swapping stories. Honestly, you’re almost in the minority if you don’t have a knee or hip scar! The chats are mighty, and I can feel a support group coming on.

Cheers

Bernie xx