Because of an overly bureaucratic interpretation of the doctor's note, last week, I worked three full days. I was very tired at the end of each day. Thankfully, the days were Monday, Wednesday and Friday so I had the chance to recover.
Admittedly, Thursday wasn't much of a recovery day as I had a dentist appointment in the morning and a physio appointment in the afternoon. Jonas, my usual taxi driver, drove me to my dentist in Verdun. Our route took us past a slightly scruffy dépanneur on LaSalle Boulevard. It had set of iron bars coming down from the balcony above, the door of which was open. Hanging from the balcony within the cage was a boxing punch bag which was being pummeled by a shirtless East Asian man in bare feet. Jonas said that the man was frequently to be seen at his training there. He added, he would be very afraid to rob that dépanneur because of the man. Not that Jonas would even try to rob a dépanneur as he is an exceptionally decent man.
The dentist's office was on the third floor. I walked up the stairs, but after my teeth were cleaned, I took the building's slow and idiosyncratic elevator down. At the present time, I can go up stairs putting only one foot on each step. However, I have to put both feet on each step going down. This is frustrating and annoying, so hence why I took the elevator down.
The physio appointment was mostly evaluation. The man had me do a series of exercises to determine my sense of balance and mobility. Generally, I did fairly smoothly with one noticeable failure. He placed a recycling bin on its side in front of where I was standing without crutches. He asked me to alternately lift one foot and tap the upper side of the bin with each six times as fast as possible. I started with my left foot and did it without trouble. I then tried my right foot. I began to topple forwards and in my panic tried to push off the bin with my right foot. CRACK! My foot went through upper side of the bin coming to rest on lower side which lay in contact with floor. The physio steadied me, both physically and mentally. While I failed that particular test, overall, the overall result of the evaluation was that I was nearly ready to move to a cane rather than crutches.
On Saturday morning, Volker, the man running my local breakfast place, gave me a sample of some bread he had baked with a special ingredient he had grown himself and had just harvested: hops! Apparently, he has some hops vines growing at this home. He had picked the flowers and boiled them in water. He then used the water to make bread. I had to admit the effect was subtle. He had a small basket of the hops flowers which he showed to the customers.
In the afternoon, I took a cab to the corner Sherbrooke and Côte des Neiges. Once there, I met with a nice driving instructor and took a drive.
Yep, I drove a car.
One of the minor blessings of the collision is that it was my left leg that took the damage rather than my right leg. It is possible to drive a car with only your right leg in full operation, provided it isn't have a manual transmission. As manual transmissions are increasingly rare owing to advent of hybrids and electric cars, I am in luck.
I had realized about two months ago that I was physically capable of driving a car. However, I was unsure whether I was mentally up to the task. My uncertainty and anxiety was increased because having been the victim of someone who shouldn't have been driving, I was determined not to be the cause of an accident. Another source of uncertainty was the fact that technically my license has always been valid, despite the fact that a year ago, I could barely turn over in bed without help.
Anyway, I had booked a session with a driving school to evaluate my mental capacity to drive. To my mind, the instructor was really there to take over if I dissolved into a nervous jelly. Anyway, I drove west along Sherbrooke Street to Decarie. Then it was up Decaire to right onto the Boulevard before turning left onto Grosvenor and right onto Sunnyside. The instructor had been telling me where to turn. However, at that point, I asked if he might indulge a whim and let me turn onto Upper Landsdowne to look at Granny and Grandpa's old house. He was fine with that. The house was still there. Then it was right onto Edgehill Road, back to the Boulevard, left onto Côte des Neiges then a slow drive around Hill Park Circle before returning to where we had started via Côte des Neiges, Dr Penfield and Simpson Street. (The reason I listed the route we took is that with the exception of Hill Park Circle, all these streets are linked to the time I have spent in Westmount with Mummy's side of the family.)
The instructor gave me 10 out of 10 and his two recommendations were trivial. Not that it really mattered to me as I had decided that I was fit to drive around the corner of Sherbrooke and Greene Avenue, that is very early in the drive. I am glad that I spent the time and money to test myself. I am secure in my insecurity.
Afterwards, I walked down to the Guy Metro station and went to the Alexis Nihon Plaza to do some shopping. As I was getting quite tired, I took a taxi home. As we went down the Glen, I saw what I thought was a familiar figure on an unfamiliar bike going up at a reasonable speed. I noted the time. That night I phoned St-Michael the Holy Mole to inquire if it had been him on what I took to be the good bicycle Margo had gently nagged him into buying and to "brag" about having driven a car that day. The Mole had indeed being going up the Glen and was pleased to hear of my progress.
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