Two Weeks Post-Op

The phrase "you can get used to anything" has been on my mind a lot during my recovery. Yes, you can get used to having a bird-bath instead of showering or sleeping on your back with pillows wedged here and there so you don't accidentally move and dislocate your brand new shiny metal hip. It's also been fascinating to me at how quickly attachment develops, how quickly we seek out patterns and security and habit. I remember when I had to abruptly leave the hospital after only two days, how I felt a kind of sentimental mistiness about leaving my night nurse, Roselle, even though she was somewhat like a drill sergeant. She woke me up at 5 a.m. both mornings I was under her care, had me bathe (bird-like) and think about ordering breakfast by 6:30, etc. Even though I was doped up on Dilaudid most of that time, I immediately fell in line and came to feel a safety and dependency under her consistent care.

I felt the same kind of silly melancholy yesterday when I put aside my walker. Imagine an otherwise perfectly healthy middle aged-woman (if you don't count the fibromyalgia and blood clotting disorder) getting attached to using a walker! But that beautiful walker really helped me get around for a good two weeks. I graduated to two crutches yesterday, and to only one today. I'm seeing some progress!

My six sessions of home physical therapy are over, so there's that to get over too. And soon I'll be returning to my own house in Columbia (the one with the many, many stairs) and leaving the wonderful care and support I've gotten from Adrian. I miss my kids and my cats. It's been particularly difficult to be away from my 12 year old son Dylan, though we talk on the phone at least once a day and his dad is taking good care of him. But it will be very difficult for Adrian and I to be apart after this. We've both kind of gotten used to this much togetherness.

I have a friend Govinda, who has MS, has been through cancer twice, and raised two sons alone. She's an amazing woman, though of course she doesn't know it, and she struggles. But years ago, before the MS, before the cancers, while we were both raising our young children, we were sitting in her bedroom talking. It was really cold outside that day, and I noticed she had the window open a little bit, and she happened to be sitting fairly close to it. I asked her why on earth she had the window open. She looked over at it, shrugged and said, "I don't know. I guess I don't ever want to get too comfortable."

It made an impression on me, and I'm reminded of that now, when I see my life shifting in big and little ways. And when I look at the television and hear about the tens of thousands of jobs being lost, and the strife we face as a people the world over. Yes, yes, the only constant thing is change. But it's not easy, and it seems that it takes a concerted effort not simply to "go with the flow" but to remain awake, to be willing and prepared to change, and to help one another cope with change in all its myriad, inevitable forms. I'm sure there's much more to it than this, but this is all I have left at the moment. My body is busy putting itself back together, changing once again, and it makes me tired.