It’s been thirteen days since the surgery, and fourteen days since my last real shower.
If you’ve ever had surgery yourself or if you’ve ever loved someone who has had surgery…you can probably imagine my current state: I am MISERABLE. I’m so sick of sponge baths. I want a real shower. I want the surgical sites to heal and be free of stitches and staples. I want to return to MY routine, to just doing things myself and my way.
In addition to the general post-surgery miserableness – life keeps knocking me back a step or five.
As if finding out the landlord had to put the house up for sale wasn’t crappy enough (and trust me – having realtors and potential buyers roaming through your house while you’re trying to recover is no fun at all – and that’s ignoring the fact that we need to find a new house too…so much stress), my husband has to go out of town next week for work.
I do have some help – in the mornings and getting kids home from school – but the evenings are all mine to manage. I’m praying my children decide to be perfect angels and help me above and beyond. I’m desperately hoping my youngest won’t decide to play any “chase” games (where he runs away when he needs to do something important like clean up, get dressed or get out the door for school).
But my anxiety is running incredibly high just imagining how much this week is going to hurt. I’ll undoubtedly be pushing myself when I shouldn’t.
And frankly, I’m a little miffed. A lot of people think having a chronic pain illness or disorder is fun. They think that after surgery, you get waited on hand and foot and don’t have to do or worry about anything. They are often envious because they see it as a break when it really isn’t.
Recuperating after a surgery is intense. It requires patience and stamina and it’s quite difficult to supply yourself with the patience and stamina needed to heal when you have a billion other things happening, especially when you most certainly aren’t getting waited on hand and foot. Your family and loved ones have full time jobs and lives too, and can often only help so much. Every little bit of help HELPS of course, but it also comes with guilt.
Guilt for asking, guilt for needing the help, guilt for accepting it. It’s a double edged sword of suck.
Yes..I know; things could be worse. A lot worse. I am thankful they’re not. But that doesn’t make hard times any less…hard.