well, they’ve got a bonfire… and a chubby little butterball tied to a stake…
As my birthday approaches and my body struggles to heal, I've made some interesting discoveries about myself. I get it now, when people talk about how certain things get easier as you get older. To be honest though, I don't know how much of it is coming to terms with aging Hi, my name is aLy and I have Peter Pan Syndrome, accepting mortality because my dad died and I'm now half an orphan, or the fact that I almost met my own mortality 3 months ago.
Typing that out, the 3 months help put things into perspective. Sometimes during this healing journey I lose hope, and think that I should be back to work now and or experiencing less pain or walking better or feeling better... but it's only been 3 months. 97 days, 2328 hours, 139,680 minutes since I experienced the most life changing moment of my existence. And you know what, it's okay that I'm not okay. I'm not really. I mask every day because I don't know what else to do. I exist. I want to get back to normal, but the pain never fucking stops. The realization that this is not "fixed" as fast as my brain wanted to believe has begun to dawn. When I left the hospital I thought 'damn I'm doing great I'll be up walking around by Christmas to decorate the tree. I'll probably even be able to do Thanksgiving'. And here I am, still in a wheelchair and only able to hobble short distances. It's fine. It's fine.
The thought that I may have to use a cane for the rest of my life started as a halfway serious comment but now I'm thinking it may be a reality. I try to use my leg, but there's a large section that I straight up can't feel, and it extends through part of my foot into my big toe. And she swells. And the knee just gives out for like, no reason at all. My brain is pushing the niggling reality of the situation through and as it turns out, it's not as exciting a perspective as I originally thought.
My daydreams have started to incorporate my disability new reality and I see myself limping with a cane. My arm seems to be fine though. My clinical self can't decide if this is a good or bad thing. On the one hand, it could be a positive as it possibly demonstrates my acceptance of the situation and now incorporate it into my self image.
OR
It could indicate I'm losing hope in the healing process and don't think I'll overcome the obstacles I'm currently encountering.
Man. Life gets so interesting once you add a clinical perspective to your repertoire.
The body is an amazing work of art. My body turned the angry red brown gashes of surgery and broken bones into smooth pink paths of health in 97 days, 2328 hours, 139,680 minutes. A month ago I had to have help to get in the car. I couldn't use the big girl potty and spent over a month emptying my bowels into a shit bucket less than 10 feet from my bed.
Wow. This was long.
it's not who you are that holds you back...
it's who you think you're not
courtesy; the.chipmunk.adventure
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