It’s been a little over 7 weeks since the tear happened. I’m in a walking boot now and have been approved for 50% of my weight to used or pushed or whatever the word may be. I was told to get a scale and measure what the pressure would be. So I did. I borrowed my parents scale, which is digital, and got NOWHERE with it fast. The screen would blink and flash and label body weight index and height. It proved pointless.
So here I am. I’m allowed to use my left foundation, my stability at 50%. I have also been left in charge of my rehabilitation. On the bright side, my surgeon really trusts me and how I listen to my body. On the dark side (is it what it’s called? I’m not sure), I really crave support. No, not someone else pushing me or forcing me, but someone to bounce these things off of. For instance, my left lower leg feels alien to me. Is that pressure my connective tissue around the injury or the tendon? What the hell is that?
I’m learning a whole new language that my body has been speaking for years, but it’s never had to do this. My body has never had to bring me back from being broken. My body has never had to communicate what it’s like to be ripped apart and sewn back together. I have NO idea. I am listening though…
I can feel the sadness of being torn apart. I can feel my body together, but handing that hands of itself in a totally foreign way. I get huge waves of fear, rage and depression. I don’t really have much motivation to eat either, which for me is a big deal. Food is something that I’ve always appreciated and enjoyed. It’s how I base my socializing and how I show my love. Preparing a meal for or with someone...you’ll know how much I care about you. But that part of me I am forcing to action. I’ve never had to do that before.
There is SO much newness right now, it is overwhelming. I can feel myself clinging to all things old, all things that used to comfort me, but it’s just not the same. I feel the urge to run that I haven’t felt since I was 19 years old, in pain, in hate with myself, in love with anything, anyone that allowed me to forget about me. The only difference is that I can’t forget about me, no matter how much I try. I’ve become consumed by sensation. All I want is to focus on healing. All I want is for everyone to focus on me, but not with sympathy - with the ways I approach others: gentle touch, affection, a phone call or text, to get coffee or lunch or dinner, to talk, anything. I miss my life. I miss my regular work schedule, the people I see, the banter.
The last week in November 2016, I never thought I would be dealing with SO much transition in my life. After so much loss of loved ones these past two years, to now deal with a broken body feels like too much. But then if it was too much it wouldn’t be my life right now. So I sit with that: the knowing that this is all here for me for a good, solid reason. That before me continues to be a learning I never imagined. I have been blessed with seeing some of my major faults these past two years. I have come to love myself and others unconditionally. This life thing is HARD. This physical body stuff is rough. This emotional body stuff is painful. This mind body stuff is CRAZY. This spiritual body feels like it can handle it. So I do. I handle it and move forward. It’s what I’ve got...love is.