Once Ballerina, Now Frankenstein – Lingering Neurological Symptoms Following Adverse Vaccine Reaction

Once upon a time, Lilly was a delicate, agile, sure-footed border collie with amazing balance and strength. She could jump greats heights, seemingly without trying. She could land with grace and nary a sound. These days, she moves more like a little, black-and-white Frankenstein.

I hear it most when I’m in the basement. If Lilly is upstairs walking around, I can her her now-heavy footfalls clump-clopping around. Where once I heard perhaps a few toenail clicks, now my lithe girl tromps around like a vintage monster movie villain.

Yes, I’m grateful that Lilly can walk at all. Truly, I am, but it still breaks my heart to hear her move. It doesn’t look that bad, just seeing it, but when I can only hear her — either from the basement or in my office?

The shuffle-thump, shuffle-thump, makes me want to cry.

I’m still not convinced she can feel her feet completely, and they still do NOT feel “inhabited” to me. When I hold her feet, they feel empty … for lack of a better word.

Tom and I have decided that Lilly too is frustrated with her feet not working right. At least once a day, we catch her barking at her own feet. It’s both funny and sad, but she’ll just be hanging out on the couch, and all of a sudden, she’ll:

• Make a funny face
• Tilt her head
• Stare at her feet
• And, bark at them

I find myself thinking about what this transition in Lilly’s life means and how it feels. And, my best description of what I mourn when I hear Lilly struggling to walk is that what was once effortless now takes effort.

So, that’s our word for meditation today … effort. Good effort? Valiant effort? Are there other phrases about effort that are more encouraging? I can’t remember any right now.