Post Surgical Thoughts

            Surgery was rough. There is no version of needing surgery on your spine where you really feel good about it going in. Or at least none that spring to mind. But there’s something utterly surreal about walking alone into surgery. It feels like walking to a sacrifice. Your own sacrifice.

            And it’s really hard to be okay with that.

            When I woke up from surgery, a lot of things were wrong. My pain was completely out of control, my bad leg was worse, too much time had passed, and they didn’t want me to go home. Nothing was going how I expected.

            I believe in science, in logic. I actually feel better when thinking about all the skilled, professional people who are working to help me. But there’s a special kind of fear when those we put our faith in, falter.

            I’m not okay.

            My body isn’t working right. From the looks of it, my body will never work as it should ever again. I like to think I can adjust to that. What’s bothering me now, is the dogged inkling that even if I were to lose my leg, the excruciating nerve pain boiling through it would remain.

UnderShare

I made some rather bold plans for this year. While it’s barely two months in to the year, I already feel like I’ve fallen woefully far behind.

I was medically cleared after my surgery in January. I was excited to start walking more and regaining my strength. I had things I wanted to try, things I was going to work on to try to earn money.

And then, after only a few days of trying to get back to my life… It all came back. The pain was unbearable. My leg barely worked.

Several phone calls, a trip to the ER, and an emergency MRI later… My disc re-herniated and I’m back to where I was 3 months ago.

I meant to write here more. I have at least a dozen blog posts written, I just never posted them. I’m not even sure why. What was I waiting for?

Like a lot of people, when I’m depressed, I tend to withdraw. And right now? I’m extremely withdrawn. I just wanted to have my life back. Not even “my” life, just “A” life would have been great.

I don’t want to be on my couch, in too much pain to do much more than nap all winter long. But that seems to be where I’m at. I know that I need to take it slow, be kind to myself, and let my body heal. I know it’s the most important thing. But having to “rest” for months on end is its own special kind of torment.

Vulnerability

Being a creative person and blogging, both require a certain amount of openness and vulnerability. If you ask any of the people I have dated in the past, you would quickly find out that those are not things that come easily to me.

I struggle.

There’s a fine line between being truly one’s self with whole and open recklessness, and being a genuine and honest person. I am comfortable saying I am an honest person. I know I mean what I say, and I take others at their word.

I am terrified of being vulnerable. I have been hurt so much, that openness feels like asking to be traumatized. And I’m full up on trauma tyvm.

What happens then, is that something will happen, I’ll take time to process it and withdraw. Then something else happens and I’m already withdrawn. Which means I’m hurting again, but now I’m also very much alone.

In my life, the escalation is fast, and dramatic.

After the fourth or fifth trauma, I’m devastated, alone, out of options, and putting any energy into artistic things – stuff that makes life worth living – is impossible. More than impossible. It’s a distant joke.

Creating is one of the most important things in my life. When I can’t focus on it, when my thoughts are a desperate handful of soggy crackers, it’s like I’ve lost myself. I don’t know how to get back from here, but I know I will. I always do.

I will always carry these burdens. This most recent trauma, will be with me forever. A very deep scar across my heart. It has taken my faith in inherant goodness, a piece of my identity, a part of my fragile joy, and a slice of my light. I’m still working through how I move forward from it.

I need to create. Even when my well is dry. Because it’s usually barren.