One woman show

Okay, I confess that I'm feeling a little sorry for myself tonight, and I'm doing a bit of grieving as well. All normal, I suppose, given the events of the past three weeks, but a bit unusual and uncomfortable for me. I'm also a little uncertain about putting this out in a public forum like this, but I really feel that if I don't get it out I'll explode. That could get messy and someone could get hurt by flying titanium!

Part of the problem, of course, is that my rock, the man who would ordinarily be providing the emotional support for me, is in no condition to do so. He's struggling with his own issues and doesn't understand that, in addition to being worried about him I'm worried about myself. This afternoon when I went to visit him, he stood up from his wheelchair (which he is absolutely NOT supposed to do without someone on staff there with him), so he could sit on his bed and change his clothes. I won't kid you; I freaked out. He's not real stable on his feet, and I was terrified that he would fall and knock me down. The absolute last thing I want to do is fall, believe me. He got upset with me, because he's quite certain, of course, that he won't fall. And he didn't, but I was still very frightened and found myself backing away from him instead of going toward him to help him. That felt very odd to me, but the instinct for self-preservation is strong, and if I fall and dislocate this new hip I'll be of no help to anyone for a long time.

I didn't like leaving when he was so angry, but it was better for me to leave. He was going to bed, the nurse came in when he got up (it sets off alarms), and it only upsets him (and me) when I can't communicate to him the fear that I have. I wouldn't trade his strong will for anything, but he's not currently able to really understand that he's impaired and that I am, too.

I'm also still digesting the information that I got from the Physician's Assistant on Monday. My healing is going extremely well, so that's not the problem. The problem is that I have an artificial hip. It will always be in greater danger of dislocation than the OEM version. The only cure for a dislocation is - you guessed it - another hip replacement surgery!

It may mean that I can't crawl around on the floor with the grandkids or play trains and cars on the floor with Addison. That has always brought such great joy to me that it's upsetting to think I may have to give it up. Perhaps my physical therapist will be able to allay some of these concerns - s/he'll be here tomorrow - but for tonight they're tumbling around in my poor brain.

I have flowers that I bought just a week before this all happened, and they're sitting on my deck, waiting to be planted. I had gathered some of the stuff together that I needed and was only waiting for some sunny weather to put them in their pots. Well, the sunny weather is here, but I'm not able. My fuschias need to be fertilized, but the mechanics of doing that are frustrating me. I think I can do it, but gathering together the things that I need presents a challenge.

It's mostly just dumb stuff like that driving me to this melancholy. I really don't have any insurmountable problems. Thankfully, we both have good insurance and the money to cover what insurance doesn't, so it really does feel like a one-woman pity party. I've managed to make it this far with only one real crying session - though I've teared up a few times - so I'm really not doing so bad. But the tears are always right there, waiting, and I guess I just needed to get it in writing. Somehow that seems to make it more manageable. I've always been someone who feels that nothing is insurmountable if I can see it in words.

I should be back and ready to conquer the world tomorrow. As long as no one bumps into me.