And I Can See

For the first time since my nose Mohs situation began a week ago,  I wasn't visually impaired when I rolled out of bed this morning.  My left eye was a functional source of information in all directions.   For the first time in a week, I don't have to see over or around the swelling.  Now I can see the keyboard without constantly readjusting my position, and I had a rather full day, at last.

I tackled the garage and have reduced one pile to 2 large boxes containing several years worth of Stroll and Roll t-shirts.  The holiday decorations are sorted into temporary containers, on their way to permanent places in the closets lining the walls.  The kids' toys are still in the dining room, awaiting their return to those same closets.  Preparing those closets will have to wait for another day.

I decided that my face could be seen in public, so we went to lunch with TBG's girlfriends.  I put in another stint sorting and organizing the garage.  I emptied the dishwasher and did some laundry,  all without needing to squat;  now I am allowed to lower my face to the floor.  

Not recognizing myself in the mirror has been more traumatizing than I realized.  TBG hasn't left my side, and, surprisingly, I don't mind.  I haven't felt in control, watching and feeling my body react to the lidocaine and the stitching and the healing all on its own.  My most restful sleep, on my sutured side, rewarded me with one eye swollen shut and the other wondering where all those fluids had gone.  

I didn't recognize how intrusive, how taxing that was.  I feel like my brain has extra space now.  There are no alarm bells ringing, there's no sense of urgency or vulnerability.  Noticing that, giving myself credit for following instructions, for not pushing myself, for hydrating and resting and putting the bandaging on just so hasn't made my nose less numb. 

But it's a reminder that healing will happen, in its own sweet time.  And that's a lovely way to end the day.