An honest update

 How are you?

I’m good, thanks?

But how’s your knee?

It’s better every day. Thanks so much for asking.

This is how the conversation goes.  I genuinely appreciate the thoughtfulness of anyone who asks But I’m not being completely honest in my answers because it’s just too hard. 

The real answer is “it’s hard”. Very. Very hard. Every day I deal with pain.  And I have to make a choice.  I can sit on my couch and be mostly comfortable.  Or I can choose to keep moving. To get on that bike, to push in my exercises.  I’m pushing against the bad form that keeps creeping in on the bike. My knee begs me to point my toe. My toe begs me to bend my knee. They are fighting each other constantly. 

Pain shoots through my knee at the most random of times as my nerves work to regenerate.  The most common time seems to be around 3 am. Right after I’ve finally drifted off to sleep as I’m still dealing with post joint replacement insomnia. 

Every fucking day.

I’ve still got about 10 hydrocodone left … that’s about the only way I get sleep. But the supply is dwindling and I know the worst thing I could do would be to try and get more. I need to deal with this in a healthy and responsible way. But I’m just so tired. 

Please don’t think I’m not aware of far greater problems in the world. Afghanistan (full stop).  COVID (again, full stop). Tomorrow I get on a plane and fly to Texas to spend 6 days with one of my dearest friends who is quite literally going through hell to save her life.  But that’s not “perspective “. It’s just more heartache. 

So dear ones. That’s my real answer.  I’m fucking tired. 

Catharsis

 Looking back through my older posts on Maybe Tomorrow,  I sense a theme.  In the beginning my blog was a place to connect and share funny stories about my kids or my musings on motherhood.  In recent years my blog has become a place of solace for me when I'm facing hard times. I guess the good news is the months that often span between posts are happy and light.  And I certainly have many periods of silence on the blog - for which I am thankful.

Right now is not one of those times.  I can feel the familiar fingers of depression reaching out to try and take hold and drag me down.  Everything in me wants to curl in - make a protective little bubble where nothing can hurt me.  During these times Ryan usually becomes my anchor.  The only thing I feel sure and strong - holding me in place and keeping me from running away.

Every day tasks feel exhausting.  My body is so worn down from all its been through - the act of loading my car after vacation, or cleaning a few rooms, leaves me feeling worn through.  Last night I came home to a mess at our Airbnb - cleaning it took hours as going up and down the stairs is such a challenge.  Afterwards I was too worn out to even think about making dinner.  Cue the feelings of inadequacy and self loathing. 

I catch site of my reflection in a window as I walk into a shop and I am horrified by the unfamiliar curve of my leg, the unnatural gait, the swollen and scarred joint.   Walking into the store the other day, feeling people watch me, I wanted to hide.  Knowing I was being looked at because of my limp and the bend of my knee.  The fear that it won't improve.  That I'll look lopsided and awkward forever.

I was supposed to meet my dear friend at the pool this morning and I cancelled on her.  Because I'm afraid.  I don't know what swimming or pool jogging will look or feel like. I don't know what my cardiovascular system will sustain.  And I don't know if I'm ready to know yet. I don't know that I can handle any more disappointment.  

Maybe you didn't ask, but there is the answer to "how are you doing?".  The answer is, "not great". But as history would show, the periods of sadness, the times when my blog is a catharsis are short, and the greater periods of peace and joy always return.  So for now I will hold onto that hope of a return to silence.