Ugh

All the more beautiful for having been broken and repaired

So, I’ve been sticking to my gym schedule and have managed to increase my workout by ten minutes each day (I go every other day for now) so I’m up to forty minutes in the pool. I wasn’t expecting this much pain, but I should have known. After all, I did it to myself. I lost basic muscle just being lazy and letting pain control me. I just keep telling myself the pain is good and it will fade.  It has faded some, this last workout didn’t hurt much at all, it just left me tired. My legs and arms are soooooo tired. The pain comes at night in the form of leg cramps (or for those that know what they are – charley horses).

Thank God my breathing is improving more than I had hoped, that is an incredible encouragement. I now forget to use my inhaler instead of walking with it clutched in my hands.  I do think about smoking every single day. Not one day goes by that I haven’t wished for a cigarette. I’m really hoping that goes away in time.

I saw the pre-surgery psychiatrist yesterday. That did not go well. He flagged me for three months of therapy. Apparently my lack of whatever about my husband’s suicide puts me at risk for stress eating, along with all the other things I worry about. I’m not even going to go off on a tangent trying to explain how ridiculous it is to put a lifetime of emotion in a twenty minute interview with a stranger. Because suicide is so frikking easy to talk about. Hhhhhhhhh!!! Fine, I’ll go. Whatever the hoop is, I will jump through it.

He also seemed very concerned that I was underestimating the recovery, which I didn’t understand. Every one I’ve talked to or read about seemed to be okay other than tenderness and nausea which is standard for abdominal surgery. I explained that I’d had four C-sections and also had my gallbladder removed and he scoffed at me, literally to my face scoffed at me and told me I could be bed ridden for weeks, and did I have someone to care for me.  I’d really like to talk to the surgeon again at this point. I don’t remember seeing bed ridden as one of the probabilities.

I ate a horrible breakfast today, I could have had salmon and rice or nachos. I picked light nachos. It was low carb, but cheese is not low calorie. I didn’t eat much, just a taste. Still, I should’ve picked the fish.

I feel broken, the shrink thinks I’m broken, I must be broken. Part of me thinks, “yeah therapy probably would be good for me”. The other part screams “you’re broken! They know you’re broken! You’re not worth fixing! You don’t deserve this chance. You don’t deserve this surgery! He saw failure written all over you!” There is yet another part of me that says “screw these people, you will do this!”

I got my period yesterday – I should probably write off all internal responses and re evaluate at a later, less hormonal date.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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