...... to sort out attitude from emotional range.
Nance left that as part of her comment yesterday. As usual, she is exactly right, nuances and all.
And so, today more than ever, I'm going to bore you with more of my self-indulgent crap, my thoughts on my thoughts. I'm kinda sorta tired of it myself, truth be told. But that's part of the story, so read on if you're interested. If not, I understand. Really, I do.
I'm not sure how it happened, but it seems that I was under the impression that I'd be walking by now. Striding out. Covering some territory. Taking the Recycling Container out to the street.... or at accompanying TBG as he lugged the thing out there .... I'd be taking a picture for you right now. That, it seems, was my plan.
I never said it out loud. I'm not sure I said it to myself. I was never tempted to put weight on Dr. Boaz's hip because I'd been instructed not to do so. I was compliant, even over those last long 48 hours when I asked everyone and anyone if it could possibly be true that my bones knew if it was 12 weeks exactly or 11 weeks and 5 days since my hip was repaired. No one told me to disobey the doctor. I didn't.
Somehow, though, I seem to have turned that into a fantasy : only needing the walker for balance for a few days, then, perhaps, a quad-cane - the kind with the four feet on a plate at the bottom- for a few days, and by next Monday morning I'd be strolling through Costco without a care in the world.
Definitely a fantasy.
My hip flexors are in open revolt. Having been nicely tucked away in a sitting or bent position for 3 months, they are unwilling to unravel themselves. If I could type to you while standing up I would stretch them out right now. As it is, in order to read a book or go on-line or do a crossword puzzle or Sudoku I have to sit. And those tendons and ligaments just shrink right back up.
I wish I were more tired. Sleeping would be great for stretching them out.
But I'm not tired, I'm full of energy and I'm longing to get out in the car and go. Someplace. Anyplace. All by myself. The only problem is that my right leg is really an important part of the whole driving scenario and my right leg is exhausted by the time I get myself into The Schnozz. I drive a mile, make three turns, and I'm ready for a nap.
I'd hoped to be able to take G'ma out for lunch this week, but who will get our walkers into the car for us?
I ache, I'm disappointed, I am weak, I miss my Mommy and I'm just a little bit blue. I haven't been this way since the hospital, when I couldn't get comfortable and it seemed that I never would. Ever.
But TBG assures me that this will get better, and I know he's right. This will heal. The sun will come up tomorrow and I will be here to greet it and it will be a good day. And this takes us right back to Nance and sorting out attitude from emotional range.
I'm trying to approach my bad mood with a positive attitude. Does that make sense? I feel sorry for myself and I'm just a little bit whiny, but the sun is out and I'm going to walk in the pool and see if that doesn't alert these muscles to the fact that there's a new sheriff in town and it's time to get moving.
I'm going to allow myself the opportunity to have a bad day*. I'm going to wallow in it for as long as it takes me to put on my swimsuit. And then, it's Off with her head! and time to go forward. It's impossible to be sad in the late afternoon in Tucson in April.
The depths are so profound. I am only beginning to dip my toe into the mire. This is a much better way to be, for now. I'm not denying the sorrow; I'm approaching it with caution.
Today was a tough day. Tomorrow will be better.
*Heidi gets credit for that idea. She's as brilliant in person as she is on AMC's Heavy