Well. Sunday disappeared in a haze of pain. My head was exploding and I lay on a couch and refrained from all movement. Including breathing at times. Breathing requires movement. And yesterday I re-entered the world. Slowly.
You know, a while back here I wrote about how you need to beware of turning 50. I was right. I have been the most outrageously healthy woman all my life, and suddenly, I turned 50 and so help me, everything went pear-shaped, and I am closely resembling the caricatures of old people sitting in the doctor's surgery with a catalogue of ailments and bits that appear to be falling off. Whatever. I am not impressed. Or happy. I HATE being sick. I avoid being sick. I never admit I am sick. And in the same category goes the broken bit too. I HATE being broken. Dented. Injured. Incapacitated.
I LOATHE taking medicine. Pain killers. Stuff. I want to be out there taking care of myself and my family. And my friends. And the wider world. I want to be walking through forests on the Alps I love so much. I want to climb up the mountains, and stand on the top. I want to run through the fields. On the beach. I want to clamber over rocks and investigate rock pools. I want to do all the things I have always loved doing. I want to garden. Work on the allotment. Go for walks along the river. Run. I want to DO things. I want to crawl over the floor pinning quilts.
And yes, I know there is a great deal of the "I" and "WANT" there. Not to mention the loving pleasant words like hate and loathe. I know. I know. But the "I and want" are not getting tacked on to the acquisition of stuff. I don't want or need things. I just want to be able to move. To get back my independence. I want to be the one who goes and gets all the things my son needs for uni soon. I want to take him to get his results next week. I want to be the one who takes him to uni for the first time. I don't want other people to do it. I want to. I want to be able to drive again. NOW. I really do appreciate all the help being offered, but it is not the same. To me.
And, much though I dislike my job, I want to be able to work. I want to be out there living. I hate being slowed down, and having the crutch as an appendage.
As you can see, I am not coping with inactivity and discomfort very well. Not today. Mind you, not yesterday either. I also realise that on a scale of 1-10, this is a minor. It could be so much worse. I do feel like a fraud in so many ways. I feel fine. I look fine. I just actually can't walk properly. People who don't see me often assume all is well. It has been 6 weeks, after all. I have had some calls asking me to please collect people from nearby towns. To go and babysit. To go out for meals. All assuming I can do things like drive. I can't drive at the moment, for heaven's sake. The doctor said no. And because I am also the world's worst passenger, this is also a trial. I am a control freak. I need to be behind the wheel. In control. I am also finding it impossible to ask for help. I mean, I have friends who all say - just tell me what you want. Oh yes. Great. I have made one or 2 calls in the past few weeks and if there is no answer, or if they are busy, I stop immediately and try to work out how I can do it myself. I hate asking. HATE it.
This is turning into one mega moan. Tough. It is grey and damp outside, I spilt make-up on my favourite top this morning and I cannot get it out, even after scrubbing, soaking, stain removing etc. I am still waiting for a call re the brace. In fact, I think I am going to start tracking that down this morning.
And yet there is something really special which happened on Sunday. The "non" day. From my letterbox, I collected an envelope, stuffed with enough money for a private MRI scan. From my friends. How cool is that. Incredibly special. I don't have to wait any more. I have every reason to celebrate and be thankful, and the moaning has to stop.
The blessings outweigh the trials. She says through gritted teeth. I need to work on the gritted teeth bit. I find it hard to receive. So hard. I am better at the giving bit. I need to work on a few things like grace and humility and thanksgiving, and to accept my limitations for now. If ever there was a time to acknowledge that I am "a work in progress", this is it.
The essence of the problem, people, is that I am not in control. Of anything right now. I am so far out of my comfort zone that it is no joke. I am used to fixing things. Not to being the one needing fixing.
And right now, I appear to be in the middle of a toddler temper tantrum, tossing my toys out of the pram. (Note the alliteration - I couldn't think of an appropriate "t" for the end. Tepee?)
Maybe more coffee would help. I will be back later in a better mood. I hope.