I’m having a moment right now. Tears are streaming down my face, the air is getting stuck in my throat, and everything feels impossible.
Yesterday was a great day, more or less. It was the day I’ve been waiting for — the day the stitches and staples came out. The doctor said the surgical scars looked good and they said I could start transitioning from the boot. Best of all, they told me I could shower! They advised me to avoid baths but said showers were perfectly fine. I even treated myself to delicious poutine afterwards. The moment I got home, I had a shower. I was feeling great!
So great that after my mother-in-law left, I did some dishes. I was still wearing the boot and thought it’d be okay. There were only a few dirty dishes in the sink and they didn’t appear to overly dirty. No problemo — I actually miss doing my regular chores.
By the time the kids were asleep, the new scar on my foot was beginning to split open. I’ve been doing my best to keep it clean, dry, and elevated. While it’s doing better today — as in, no longer bleeding — it still hurts. A lot.
Which leads me to now. It was was nearly six in the evening and my husband was still at work, which meant I had to get the kids fed. Luckily, my uncle came over and made their dinner in advance so all I would have to do is heat it up for them.
It’s simple, right? Sounds simple enough. Walk from the couch to the kitchen and heat up some pasta. It should be easy — only it’s not. It’s not easy to walk right now and the effort it took had me in tears. Especially because I didn’t know when to expect back up. If I injure myself, I didn’t know when Matt would walk through the door. And that’s a scary thought.
So I had a meltdown. I cried, the heavy, thick tears that almost leave impressions on your cheeks in their descent. This recovery has been HARD, there’s no other way to describe it. Hard, difficult, and long. And that kind of thing wears on you.
I’m exhausted; bone tired, in fact (get it? I have a bone disorder and I’m bone tired…HA). I want to be done with this healing process because relying on other people for seemingly simple things is daunting. I want my routine back.
Everyone always tells you to keep your chin up. They tell you it could be worse, that you’re lucky you don’t have to deal with a terminal illness. And while that’s very true: I AM lucky I don’t have to deal with a terminal illness, and while I know that it could be worse, it doesn’t erase the fact that this is happening to me now and it’s a struggle.
I feel like we unintentionally silence people by telling them to keep positive. We’re basically telling them that their struggles are not enough of a struggle to merit a spell of sadness and desperation brought on by the isolation of whatever they’re struggling to carry.
Sometimes, I need to remind myself that it’s okay to feel what I’m feeling — be it ugly and unpleasant, even if it makes other people uncomfortable because they don’t know how to react or respond. If I’m feeling it…it must be felt. Suppressing it won’t do me any good in the long run.
So I let the tears run their course, and I expelled some of the words from my mind in a blog post that maybe will resonate with someone and maybe won’t, and now I’m going to have a tea and thank the Lord that my husband came home in time to handle the bedtime routine.
Tomorrow’s another day, right?