Tuesday, May 22, 2012

It's Time

My blog title is a double-entendre.  I chose the title "finally" first, seeing as how I've been missing for so long.  Then I thought of what's been on my mind most over the last several days, and that is definitely "time."

Now in my seventh week of rehab, I've finally got up the energy to do something.  After all, this surgery carries a six-week sentence of no work for those gainfully employed.  No driving, no long trips if someone else is driving, all kinds of fun stuff.  Of course, I never felt like doing any of that anyway.  I can't really remember what all I've done over the last six weeks.  Nothing of any real value for sure.

So "It's Time" means today I feel like venturing back out into the land of the living, at least for a little while.  My doctor recommends it.

The other side of the title is that I'm organizing my time.  After so many days of not caring about the hours and minutes wasted, never to be recaptured, my time has become a rare jewel, something for spending wisely.

I'm working on simple things starting back -- gardening, a little creative cooking, a bit of shopping all on my own without a designated driver, and this meager attempt to get back to writing.

To my surprise, last week at therapy three other patients admitted to me that loss of creativity was the hardest part of the whole ordeal.  I thought I was the only one who felt this.  One said she'd sit at her sewing  machine in her beautiful craft room, look around, and get up and walk away.  She couldn't bring herself to do what had given her so much joy, crafting beautiful projects.

Another gave up her needlework, intricate intarsia knitting as gifts for her family and friends.

The third admitted it was even hard for her to read, her favorite pastime.  I told her I had this same problem but was finding solace in listening to audio books.  There were days I did nothing but listen through my ear pods to one book after another on my living room couch or bed.  What a blessing this has been to me.  Listening to a melodic female voice tell a good story helped me more than anything over these past weeks.  I became very picky about book narrators.  I'd throw a book back simply because the reader was bad.

I'm still listening to my books.  Sometimes when cycling on the machine in therapy, or walking the laps prescribed for me on the rubberized track.  When I think of it, I'm probably in the best physical shape I've been in for years, just with some pain still.

My rehab friends and I chalk up the loss of creativity mainly to the pain meds, which are sorely needed for longer than we anticipated.  This is not a wimpy surgery and recovery.  The robust men complain as much as us females.  It changes you.

I'm planning to shoot some photos of my gardens, my knitting projects, other things I'm working on, and reconnecting with the world.  It feels good...and long awaited.


Women's Memoirs

Women's Memoirs
Women's Memoirs