Aug 8, 2019

You’re doing really great, Claudia said, as I left our counseling appointment. I am doing great, I replied, but it doesn’t always feel too great.

It’s been a month since surgery, and we’ve been venturing out and socializing and trying on the old shoes we used to wear. We’ve been clearing plates and celebrating friends and sipping coffee. Going thru the motions, and enjoying it when we can.

A couple nights ago I was laying in bed, restless, still uncomfortable from surgery (and the nerve damage that comes with it). I was in a pool of sweat, one of multiple nightly swims. A pool sheets deep, wet enough to need a life vest. I guess this was a moment of acceptance because I realized things are just going to keep feeling off, for some time.

I’m anxious to get back to myself- to feel normal. I stretch out my back, arms, and chest multiple times a day and look forward to ease when I move. I look forward to connecting with friends without the strangeness of dancing around things. I’m careful not to be too sensitive or share too much and people are careful about what they say. Normal, considering- but we shouldn’t have to be careful, just ourselves.

For me, grief has felt heavy and dark and a lot like depression. In my grief I’ve needed to hide, and though I keep shouting “come out come out wherever you are,” some days I don’t feel found. During surgery they give you a whole lot of who knows what and I’m pretty sure some of it messes. Who knows. Maybe grief can really just feel pretty damn dark.

One month out of surgery and not much feels normal. I’ve been unsatisfied and feeling like each breath of acceptance is approval, which it’s not. I want the impossible past. I must accept the present. Anxiousness only makes things worse and yet I return and sip more. I want control and familiarity, or a balm to dull.

Accepting that things won’t quickly feel normal isn’t easy. It’s taken breaking down to multiple docs, a social worker, my counselor, and many friends to hear enough times- you’re not gonna feel normal! After a month of resistance, acceptance has begun. I take the moment and I feel ease. I take the next moment. But, why does the open hand want to make a fist.