January 19, 2019 - 12 days til surgery
I long to be on the go, to be outside in the warm January sun. I want to finish all the things I've started today.... the laundry in the washer, dryer and couch. The dishes in the sink from breakfast and the freezer meal prep this morning. The pantry in need of a clean out to make dinner menus and put away today's groceries. The little details I've started in the patio in acrylic paint. Lastly, my planner in need of my inked ideas for getting through the next week and a half so I can begin planning my recovery.
I feel robbed and almost victimized by my illness right now. More so because it feels more than evident that something else is at play. My feet and hands hurt badly. Last night, I clung to my husband's chest as the lower part of my back tightened and released again and again for what seemed like endless moments. I held back my tears because I didn't want to ruin our evening vegetation ritual that we both desperately need through the week. I watch little old ladies walking carefully through the grocery store, toddling from side to side as if in some unseen pain. I walk just like them, even when white knuckling the handle of the cart for fear of falling. I always wonder if a trip to the grocery store ends in a nap, with canned goods sitting in bags for a day or two, for them too. We also have matching handicap placards in our front windows.
At the end of the day, all I can do is wait and read and wonder. I'm relying on my next trip to my primary doctor for some answers. I am practicing being brave enough to utter the word fibromyalgia and to fight for better pain management. After that, I don't know what will be next. I wonder if we wait until after surgery, after healing and after physical therapy to see of these worsening new pains go away. I wonder if my current neurologist will be able to help. He still thinks it all stems from migraines, which, by the way, are still not under control. I wonder what they'll find during surgery. Surely some little bit of endometriosis that was been providing me with belly pains and unending nausea.
Now I just wait. Now I just hope. I journal more now because it's easier to pen a few sentences on paper when energy eludes me. When I do get words onto a screen, my mind wanders and I find it difficult to pick the ripe ideas from the poorly fruiting tree in my mind. I begin lots of things, but finishing takes days or takes something that I cannot give right now.
For now, it's ok to feed my longing. Maybe it will be the strength I hold on to. It's like a dream, a lucid dream that I can grasp and turn into reality. Lucid dreams are just as healthy as any. And I will be back out there, on the go.
I feel robbed and almost victimized by my illness right now. More so because it feels more than evident that something else is at play. My feet and hands hurt badly. Last night, I clung to my husband's chest as the lower part of my back tightened and released again and again for what seemed like endless moments. I held back my tears because I didn't want to ruin our evening vegetation ritual that we both desperately need through the week. I watch little old ladies walking carefully through the grocery store, toddling from side to side as if in some unseen pain. I walk just like them, even when white knuckling the handle of the cart for fear of falling. I always wonder if a trip to the grocery store ends in a nap, with canned goods sitting in bags for a day or two, for them too. We also have matching handicap placards in our front windows.
At the end of the day, all I can do is wait and read and wonder. I'm relying on my next trip to my primary doctor for some answers. I am practicing being brave enough to utter the word fibromyalgia and to fight for better pain management. After that, I don't know what will be next. I wonder if we wait until after surgery, after healing and after physical therapy to see of these worsening new pains go away. I wonder if my current neurologist will be able to help. He still thinks it all stems from migraines, which, by the way, are still not under control. I wonder what they'll find during surgery. Surely some little bit of endometriosis that was been providing me with belly pains and unending nausea.
Now I just wait. Now I just hope. I journal more now because it's easier to pen a few sentences on paper when energy eludes me. When I do get words onto a screen, my mind wanders and I find it difficult to pick the ripe ideas from the poorly fruiting tree in my mind. I begin lots of things, but finishing takes days or takes something that I cannot give right now.
For now, it's ok to feed my longing. Maybe it will be the strength I hold on to. It's like a dream, a lucid dream that I can grasp and turn into reality. Lucid dreams are just as healthy as any. And I will be back out there, on the go.
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