Oh hey. Long time no see, eh? Yeah, I have been busy...watching Maury "You are not the father" Povich and healing. It's tough work, you know. All good things must come to an end, which is why I have returned to both the land of the living and also to work today. Based upon all the horrid television I have been watching lately, me thinks it is a good thing. An exhausting thing, but a good thing.
Yesterday was the much anticipated four week mark following surgery. In addition to returning to work, I am also beginning to feel like myself again. It's hard to describe, but I can best compare the feeling to what it might be like to age in reverse. As in, having surgery made me feel like I was 85 and four weeks later, I feel like I'm 35. I'm still working on getting back to my actual age (27 and three quarters) but I anticipate the next few weeks will pick up the slack. Strangely, the last four weeks have both passed quickly and drug on--which likely only makes sense to me in my brain, but it's just how it feels.
As far as how I feel, that is also strange. I've had moments of frustration with my body when it felt like I would never heal or get back to normal again, (hello puffy belly!) mixed with feelings of amazement when I realize how spectacular the human body is at healing itself. It's a mixed bag, really. I find myself literally counting down the days until the magical six week mark, when I can return to exercise again...but am beginning to think I won't make it that long. Some people go to therapy, I exercise--it's how I function. Needless to say, a month without my 'therapy' makes me cranky. Also, snippy. And, slightly bitchy. Not that anyone at my house has noticed, of course.
But at the end of the day, I am thankful my doctor could remove the cysts and likewise, hopefully restore my body to its normal function. Whatever that means, really. It makes me realize that everyone's normal isn't the same, it's whatever seems normal. Being in pain has always been normal for me, which ironically is not normal in the general sense. I guess part of me was hoping that surgery would be a magic wand that removed the pain, but sadly it has not. My doctor says it will take time, maybe, or it won't change anything. There's just no way to know how my body will react to her attempts to fix what has ailed me for so many years. I guess that's just the crazy and amazing part of medicine and science; sometimes, you just don't know. As frustrating as it might seem, I'm happy with whatever my body chooses to do. At this point, I realize it's my only choice.
At the end of the day, though, I can say this: I am at peace. I have found peace in these last few weeks, mostly in the places I had never bothered to look before. It turns out peace is understanding that what is broken isn't always fixable, but it is liveable. Peace is realizing that you always have the ability to choose--but whatever you choose, you have to move on and let it flow into the universe. More than anything, peace is the willingness to let go of the things you cannot control.
I hate to think that having surgery was the extent to which I had to go in order to realize peace, but I sincerely believe it was the right path. As my body heals, I realize that I'm stronger than I thought and more resilient than I had imagined. It's been a long road back to normal, but I can finally see the light again.