It’s hard to kick butt when you can’t bend your leg…
And here I thought I would not only write the great American novel but climb the ranks of @Steemmonsters, cure polio, write a thousand blog posts, find Jimma Hoffa and somehow teach my dog to run to the store with a twenty and return with a six pack plus all the change… all this and more in the two weeks I was to spend on the couch mending from my third knee surgery.
It didn’t happen- none of it.
Ok- so perhaps I set my sights a tad to high. I mean expecting exact change from my dog??? What was I thinking? Anyways, so far I have not accomplished as much as I had set out to do.
the medication the doc gave me sent me into a daze and confused stupor, great for pain but not prose. It also sent my sleeping pattern into a randomized pattern of wide awake or drowsy, pain or no pain.
I ditched the meds and opted for a less potent form of pain killer. That softened the edge while allowing the fog left by the strong meds to fade away. The sleepless night still plagued me but I compensated by checking my Steem feed - often around three AM or so.
I went to a follow up apt with one of my doctors today. I had hopes that today would be the day my knee would take a break from its strait brace hell But no such luck. My leg need to continue in strait brace contraption for at least three more weeks. The doc says it’s to give the tendon more time to heal. Then I begin the long and painful process of physical therapy.
I can’t imagine how freaking hard this all would have been if not for the help of my parents. They not only watch my son many times but also drive me around (my wife doesn’t drive)take me to doctor apts and even mows my lawn. And I hate that. The lawn moving part. I should be helping them out. And instead…. No matter, we are family and I am eternally grateful for that. So freaking grateful.
The hardest part of this entire mess- the pain, the medical bills, the complications… the worst part is admitting that I needed the help, and that despise my awesomeness my forty year old body needs more time to heal now then it did it my twenties.
Yeah, I tried. I resisted the help at first you know that whole male pride thing, But in the end,
It’s hard to kick butt when you can’t bend your leg.
image credit: Image by Mohamed Nuzrath from Pixabay
I think it's often harder for men to admit this, and to come to terms with their failing bodies (not that you're failing, you're just going through a hiccup). My Dad has always been UBER active - gardening, yoga, surfing, running, whatever - then at 70, he has heart attack and six months later, cancer. Like WTF. So he had to come to terms with a lot of things, and one of them was that he had to ask for help or at least ACCEPT IT. I was very proud of him for getting over this fairly quickly, but many men don't because physicality is their identity - as providers, as carers, as capable, strong people. To admit weakness is not always culturally a thing. I've seen a lot of men really lose their shit over that change in identity.
Within a year, Dad was drawing mud maps in hospital and getting us to lug rocks into the courtyard in a particular way to landscape his garden for him. We did joke a lot about how he didn't have to get sick for us to help out, but it was big of him to admit that he couldn't do it, and it was okay to let us look after him for a change.
My father is the same way. while it was not as bad as cancer, he did go through few close calls needed our help. I was happy to finally be able to do something for him, to help him out where he has done so much for me.
anyway thanks for sharing. It's good read related stories and that I (we) are not alone.
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