Cranky, Reluctant, Begrudging Gratitude
Bridget Phetasy is making me write a gratitude list. Pen to paper, later typed for blog purposes. Ok, she isn’t making me, I’m just heeding her no nonsense advice. I went in for one kind of surgery, but ended up having far more taken from me. I was terrified before I went in and it confirmed all my worst fears. When I woke up, the pain and the outcome were worse than I had imagined: bigger incision, far more removed, longest recovery timeline (I was told 2 weeks, but it’s going to be at least 6). I lost parts of myself I wasn’t ready to lose. I lost the ability to carry life, a kind of death in itself, but my husk continues to exist. That’s what I lost. Now, to force myself to focus on what remains. I’m starting with what’s easy and hoping that the flow of association takes over.
Bridget Phetasy for giving me the time of day, let alone caring about the problems of an insignificant pleb like me.
Locals for giving me a way to connect with her and other creators I admire.
All the kindred spirits I’ve met on Locals.
Those in the Malice community who encouraged me to get in the best shape I could before surgery. My arm and leg muscles have been working over time to make up for my inability to use my abs without sudden, searing pain.
Those in the pham who sent dad jokes upon request, as well as other forms of encouragement.
Amanda, Eliza, and Becky in particular for coming alongside me from the beginning of all this and consistently, graciously pushing back against my tenacious, aggressive nihilism.
Modern pain meds that reduce the feeling that someone just used a cheese grater on my insides to a manageable ache.
Laxatives. ‘Nuf said.
Comfy bed and couch.
Comfy clothes to convalesce in.
Heating pads and ice packs.
All the Jane Austen movies and miniseries, even “The Jane Austen Book Club” for when I run out of actual Austen.
Fluffy kitties to entertain and keep me company.
A caring, supportive husband who spent the past 5 days doing everything for me, including helping me roll over in the middle of the night. One of the nurses said she had never seen a husband be so tender and attentive towards his wife.
Not having to go through this alone.
My sister who will be here soon to take the brunt of care-giving off my Bear.
The ability to prep and store food. I prepped about 2 weeks’ worth of healthy, easy to throw-together meals.
IRL friends who check in on me.
Massages.
Morphine - I never knew what all the fuss was about until I had it and it started to wear off.
A husband who is willing to take over doing the laundry and dishes in addition to taking care of me.
Washing machines and driers - basically every modern appliance.
Hot showers.
Deodorant … speaking of which, it’s time to reapply.
The body’s ability to heal.
The fact that everything is temporary.
People who have different perspectives than me and can fill in my blind spots.
A cozy home.
Memes.
Dad jokes.
Podcasts.
Fluffy blankets.
Flowers from my MIL and from the ladies I do life with IRL.
The extraordinary amount of kindness I’ve encountered.
Getting to leave the hospital 10 hours early because I had met all the requirements to be released.
Whatever numbing agent they pumped my belly full of. As it wears off, I’m beginning to realize how much pain it kept at bay. My heart shatters to think of all the women who went through this without modern anesthesia.
Solfeggio frequencies and binaural beats. Who knows if they actually have the effect they’re purported to, they’re soothing and even a placebo effect is nice on occasion.
Indoor bathrooms as opposed to old school out houses.
Electricity . . . . normally when I get to electricity, that means I’m tapped out . . . and my sister will be here soon.
Oh, yeah, and anyone who bothered to read this and made it this far. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.