just you wait

Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash

Twenty-six days ago, I had a hysterectomy and pelvic floor reconstruction, basically a handful of major surgeries all at once. I spent one night in the hospital, and upon my return home, my couch and I became more acquainted than ever before. While I found it difficult to concentrate on reading anything more than a Facebook newsfeed for some time, watching television required little thought or energy, so I did a ton of it for the first couple weeks. From my vantage point on the couch, I watched as the members of my family went about their regular lives-- homework, dinner making, game playing, fool acting, same old, same old. Everyone was accommodating, refilling my water bottle, bringing me items I needed so I wouldn't have to go up and down the stairs too often, taking short walks with me up and down the road for a change of scenery and the littlest bit of exercise I was allowed. But obviously, life had to go on as usual for everyone else. Schools and jobs needed attending, and much of the day saw me lying down with a dog on either side of me, hanging with my new pal Veronica Mars.

My birthday came six days after surgery, and we went out to dinner with a group of wonderful friends, and even as I was uncomfortable sitting upright on a wooden chair (padded with the cushion I brought from home, as it were), it was so good to have a wee feeling of normalcy. To put on real clothes. To be out in public. To eat and drink and be merry.

Eleven days after the surgery, I made my way into the doctor's office for my post-op visit, a prepared list of questions pulled up on my phone's note app. The doctor was pleased by the healing she observed, but she seemed to sense a theme to my questions when she told me that I was basically expecting too much, too soon. "Your hysterectomy was the least of what we did in there. We were in there for over two hours." The message was blunt-- a full recovery would take 8-12 weeks. With fewer than two weeks under my belt, I was already feeling a bit stir-crazy, and this was not exactly what I wanted to hear.

Fast-forward to today, almost four weeks since the surgery, and the stir-crazy feeling is still there, for sure, though I'm not spending nearly as much time on the couch anymore. It's a bit easier to sit in a real chair, but I'm still sticking with the cushion. I've stopped taking ibuprofen, as I'm not in any actual pain anymore, just sore in my bits and pieces. Muscles were stretched and moved and generally tugged about, and that has been the source of my continued discomfort. I'm still not supposed to lift anything heavier than a gallon of milk, which is pretty much everything.

By looking at me, you probably wouldn't know anything was different than usual. I'm back to walking normally-- I think-- and other than a slight wince when I sit down or get back up, I imagine it looks like I'm just hanging around doing nothing all day long. My floors need vacuuming, which I can do if I have someone else bring the damn thing to me and move it from level to level. I'm back to being able to do standing chores, so the only excuse for a sink full of dishes now is that I'm not in the mood. I can tackle the laundry like no one's business after someone else carries the baskets down to the machines. Basically, I can do some of the things I usually handle, but not at 100%, and I'm not feeling patient.

I, however, am always physically aware of the ongoing recovery. A few hours after the surgery, I began to feel a tingling sensation in my legs as a result of the position I was in the stirrups during the procedure. I was reassured it would go away, but that it might take a while. Thankfully, it has left my right leg completely, but it's still slightly there in my left. There's a pulling feeling in my pelvis that hasn't gone away yet, presumably from those muscles that were called into service. I still feel not quite myself, which I guess I'm not, at least not who I was four weeks ago.

And so I wait.

Hopefully, I'm just about at the halfway point toward full recovery. It seems that I came into this with an uncharacteristic level of optimism, figuring I'd be back to normal by Thanksgiving. Scaling back those expectations has been a challenge in and of itself. And so I spend my days trying to quell the voice in my head that chastises for taking a nap or lounging with a book for an hour. I try to make manageable to do lists, and try even harder to not feel bad pushing a task to the next day. I've begun to put my Fitbit back on, just to see if I can slowly, gradually increase my number of steps. Walking is what I'm used to doing, and it's getting easier, so I want to focus on one trackable measure of progress.

In a few days, it will be time to pull out the holiday decorations and transform this house into December mode for a second time. Someone else will have to do the hauling of the bins from storage and the carrying of the items to their assigned spots. I'll just wait for everything to settle into place, something with which I'm getting a lot of practice.


Title inspiration: "Alexander Hamilton" by Lin-Manuel Miranda