Fifty-two weeks.
Hundreds of hours.
Thousands of tiny movements.
One year ago, I couldn’t bend over without bracing myself. I’d just been cleared to begin rebuilding my leg strength after spine surgery.
Phase 1: The first 12 weeks were about letting my spine heal. I had to roll to my side every morning to get out of bed. For work, I alternated between sitting, standing, and lying down. Zoom calls often happened from bed, with a heating pad or an ice pack between activities. My work days were defined by PT—and when I lapsed, and tried to work the way I have in past lives, my body would rear up and revolt in pain.
Phase 2: I found my way back to a pool. Swimming was the best option. No running, no biking, and even no flip turns—just slow, careful laps. An older guy once told me my stroke looked beautiful. It reminded me that what people see and what people know can be very different. I told him that I took the stairs in and out, there were no jumps or bends, and that I was still healing. I shared the scar on my back, and we talked about recovery—how long it takes, and how much people don’t see.
Phase 3: Last November, I found a swim team. The first 2000 yards felt like carrying bricks through water. The first month was mud. Yet the people and the team kept me coming back—each of us dealing with our own challenges, laughing at how absurdly early we get up, griping about how hard the workouts are.
And every week over the last year, I’ve also driven to the hospital for physical therapy work (PT). My right hip was still rotated and elevated, my sacrum tilted. The root cause, still to be fixed. Spine surgery fixed the pinched nerves; but my body still needed repairs. My left leg is still numb sometimes from nerve damage, the muscles re-learning how to fire properly and carry weight.
Two weeks ago, I closed out my final session of PT. The therapist gave me marching instructions, with exercises to keep doing on my own.
Recovery isn’t glamorous. It’s in the weeks—and years—of tiny, incremental movements, in the daily work, in the behind-the-scenes practices that take time and attention and energy.
This photo is me, hiking, in the woods near our house. Two years ago I was on this same hike with Alex Peck when I stopped, bent over, and bear-crawled the rest of the way out of the woods. It was too hard to stand. That year I struggled to stand, to walk, to sit.
Sometimes I forget how much work the last year has been. How far I’ve come. How much has changed. I’m walking, gardening, swimming.
I’m not yet running or dancing—but I’m close.
— Sarah K Peck
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Interesting! I've wondered how your recovery / rehab has gone. PT and swimming - and group support - sound just right. So happy you've made so much progress! xo Mom