8 weeks...I have so many things to be thankful for, and I truly want to be strong and positive, but tonight I need to let myself go for a minute (or hour) and ramble a little. Mental therapy, I guess,. I realized as I sit here I have yet to cry, and tonight I'm just not strong enough to hold back. I am tired and dealing with some self inflicted soreness. Too many days in a row visiting the ODIC, too many poor choices, and lots of frustration. I am a marginally active Bonesmarter with a small following, so this is really for me tonight.
OK--fast forward 20 minutes. I deleted my adventures from Thursday through today as the goal of getting it off my chest has been met, and NO ONE should have to read the novel I wrote and I don't need to remember it. In a nutshell, we hosted a large group at our home for dinner, so lots of prep and shopping, there was a long story about a track meet I went to but had to leave without watching a single race my son or daughter ran, and some PT conundrums.
I am frustrated with my poor sleep. I fall asleep alright, but wake up after 2 hours, then toss, turn, doze, wake up because I am sweating profusely, toss and turn some more...I have NEVER been a night owl (even in college, I was the party pooper who always went to bed at 10:00). Now stay up late so it's less hours of tossing and turning in bed. So, just what does happen when you take tramadol with a nice glass of cabernet? Will it get me 4 hours uninterrupted?
In the rest of my life, I am not, by any stretch of the imagination, a perfectionist. But this whole thing has me completely out of touch. I think I have to be super woman, have this great recovery, be tough. Sometimes I just want to say "OUCH" loud enough for someone to hear me. I want to be self-absorbed and not feel guilty about it. I want to cry and have someone hug me and rub my back and say 'there, there." I am too stubborn (and stupid) to ask for help or show any signs that I am less than super woman. As I look back, I see how reckless I was, like taking my first shower without even letting anyone know I was going to. I doubt my husband even knows about the constipation and bleeding hemorrhoids in my early weeks or the trips to the freezer in the middle of the night for ice packs on my first night home. So, I am NOT suppose to vacuum and scrub floors 6 days post op while everyone else is gone? Like I said, stubborn and stupid and perhaps totally out of touch with reality.
Whew! I have now successfully shed my first tears in this journey. It is now getting close to bedtime, or at least reading-to-make-myself-good-and-tired-time. Now the true test, will I actually hit "post reply?"