It’s been 3 weeks today since my surgery. My wounds are mostly healed at this point. My physical wounds, anyway. Mentally, I still feel like a stiff breeze could blow me to pieces. I could probably return to work and physically be able to perform most parts of my job. Emotionally though, I need time. As part of my job with disability claims, I have to determine physical and mental limitations regarding one’s ability to work. There is one section evaluated, that addresses someone’s ability to tolerate stress and adapt to changes. You can rate it “no impairment”, “moderate impairment”, or “marked impairment”. I fall in the marked category these days. A faulty computer reduced me to tears that wouldn’t stop last night. This morning, I attempted to leave the house to upgrade my phone, and ended up panicking and fleeing the Sprint store after the salesman was being way too sales pressure-y. He may or may not have been trying to help me out by getting me to change my plan and get a different phone than the one I went in for, but I was all of the sudden hot and overwhelmed and had no idea what to do. Like my brain was frozen in a block of ice. It’s good that I have a few more weeks off of work, because I don’t think I could successfully do anything worth paying me for at this point.
Getting better is a complicated issue. Typically, you get sick, or have a surgery, and at some point you feel “normal” again. But I don’t feel normal. And I won’t feel normal. There’s no going back to how I was before. I would give anything to be able to rewind a few months and worry about the old things I used to give importance to. I’m told I will find a new normal, and I’m sure that is true. In fact, if I am given that chance to find it, I will be happy. My wonderful radiation oncologist told me last week that this will forever change me, but it doesn’t have to be negative….I will learn to see things with new eyes, appreciate the sunset or a beautiful day in a new way than I did before. I hope that is true as well. I do believe that I will get through this and still be here. I worry about how I will ever manage to put cancer on the back burner, to really feel like I’m free and it’s not just out of sight around the corner. One day at a time and all that.
Being given this time to recover at home is a gift. My family and friends have rallied and helped support us in ways I wouldn’t have imagined, and will be forever thankful for. I’ve spent most of my time resting, binge-watching Gilmore Girls for the first time, reading, and crafting. Not to mention lots of time snuggling my 2 loves when they are home. Prior to my surgery we moved the recliner up from the basement, which used to be the chair in Quentin’s nursery. I had read it would be more comfortable to rest in for the first few weeks. I spent countless hours the first few years of Quentin’s life, holding him in that chair, reading to him, rocking him. It helped me nurture my baby, and now it’s helping to nurture me. Today, I sit and rock, and feel lucky for the things I still have and those that this disease cannot take from me.