Being laid up for a week, I understand how people can become slightly addicted to the Hallmark Channel. Their stories, and maybe it's the hydrocodine talking, are all rather similar to mine. That character, who is down on their luck...in a small town...learning the ropes...and Harry Connick Jr. is their neighbor...it's just like my life...the meds seemingly kicked in. But there I was, not used to laying in bed having someone else do my job for me. It tripped me out. All of my triggers were tripped and while I was icing down my new hip, possibly enjoying these moments of solitude...I was trying not to have a nervous break down.
One friend boldly mentioned to me "...in 4 months, when all you want to do is walk into your bedroom and shut the door, you'll miss these days." She's probably right. Hearing the nightly noises that I usually hear first hand through a baby monitor from the other side of the house, it felt eerie. Depending on people-trigger. Letting go of control-trigger. All the while having to remind myself that a break from life now meant a new lease on life later. More over, looking forward to not being physically broken down like some old car that has 3 idiot lights glaring on the dashboard...low fuel, turn signal light out, service engine soon...
Having to physically slow down taught me a lot. Having complete strangers attaching monitor probes to my most personal regions taught me more. It seemed that about the time I finished telling one person wearing medical scrubs my personal history, I was having to turn around and tell another one. Every word coming out of my mouth probably disconcerting to them. At this point I tell what has been a rather emotional story more or less in a matter-of-fact manner...it's just been my life, as common as the gray hairs on my head.
Every time I was forced to hear the words coming out of my mouth, sort of put into perspective for myself how far I've come. In the past at this hospital, I was never the one wearing the backless gown. I was never the one being probed. I was never under the scope...I was always sitting next to the bed of the person who was. Quickly, very quickly, I became more aware of all I had to lose...all I had to live for...those four reasons I can't walk into my bedroom in the middle of the day and shut the door.
I stressed for weeks that this surgery was no big deal to my kids...mind over matter? Maybe. More like 'someone who is going to this hospital and will indeed come back home' is probably more where my head was. I didn't want to impart any unnecessary fear in them...and maybe at the same time reassure myself. I've never had a surgery. I didn't know what to expect. I had plenty of people reassuring my that this thing would be a breeze...the two people would tell me some horror story of how they caught staph infection...well, that's reassuring.
So, now I'm a week and some change out of surgery and I'm doing better than I had expected. The mere act of shaving one's legs is life altering at times (clearly I'm easily pleased) and in four days my staples come out. It's crazy to think of what my body went through in such a short amount of time. However, it's crazier for me to think of what my mind went through in these last few weeks. I have a new appreciation for those I didn't get to take care of for a bit...and an understanding that you could never be a failure by letting people help you when you need it...they're just trying to help you turn your idiot light off...
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