It’s funny how the mind holds on to things. How it latches on to one idea or thought and just doesn’t let go.
I know I’m setting myself up for disappointment today, that I’m so focused on getting all six drains out that anything less is going to feel like a devastating blow. I don’t even know that I’ll feel all that much better once they are out. It’s not like the drains come out and suddenly I can lift my arms or move the teapot from the sink to the stove. The things I can’t do or shouldn’t do make for a long list. I worry that I am already doing more than I should, using my arms to lift or move or get leverage in a way that I’m not supposed to. Post-surgery instructions are confusing. It’s hard to judge if I am doing too much or not enough.
Friends came to visit yesterday and it was such a lift. The afternoon flew by in a way that I wish all my afternoons would fly by. It felt so normal to be sitting and chatting — knowing that soon enough I will be well and we will go to dinner, or to hear music, that my old life will resume, has to resume at some point. I have to believe in tomorrow, in things getting better, easier over time. There’s no other way.
It just has to get easier.
Which brings me back to the drains and today’s appointment with the plastic surgeon. I can’t promise I’ll handle it well if the drains don’t come out, or if only some of the drains come out. I need this — physically, emotionally…
It’s just one thing. One small piece of it. And whatever happens, I will be fine. I know that. But I can’t promise I’ll be brave or strong or even very grown up about an outcome that isn’t the one I want. It hurts a little to admit that. But it’s the truth.