You take them both and there you have
The Facts of Life ... The Facts of Life....
The theme song of that bad old '80s sitcom that I and others of my generation grew up on rattles in my head sometimes, especially recently. In an effort to be true and real, I can't adequately name life at the moment without acknowledging there's good and bad. Guess those are the facts of life.
Monday began a new stage of food reintroduction. This week is all about toast, cheese, fish, crackers, and natural peanut butter. In two days, all that's stayed down has been a few low-fat Wheat Thins with half a wedge of Laughing Cow cheese and a few bites of peanut butter toast. Everything else has been a fail, as in, if it won't go down it'll only sit in your esophagus so long before it comes back up. (Last week's soft food reintroductions went better, although let's just say that mashed potatoes weren't the friend they used to be during other surgery recoveries.) Of course, this isn't altogether unexpected given the trauma of surgery, and the fact that the main internal surgical line for me is right at the point where the esophagus and stomach meet. Yesterday, anything I ate resulted in hellacious hiccups, which only ceased after food reversed course. Today, I ate nothing the first half of the day due to a funeral I was to officiate -- for me, the nightmare scenario is hiccups while trying to eulogize the communion of the saints' newest member. And after tonight, I don't think I'll be dining on tuna fish anytime soon.
The task for me, I'm discovering, is to not let my mind run too far to either extreme. I'm exactly three weeks post-surgery -- far too early to claim a success, but likewise far too early to run for the hills, either. I'm finding it difficult to be gentle with myself -- I become frustrated by my own fatigue (I went back to work late last week). I try to confine my mood swings to home best I can -- though I'm utterly embarrassed by the numerous times my temporarily misplacing random, hardly-important inanimate objects has left me utterly apoplectic. And I'm cold -- all. the. time. If you know me, you know that's the wildest side-effect of all!
And yet, I'm also full of joy. Last week, thanks to my new pedometer, I jumped headlong into the my employer/health insurance HealthMiles challenge to walk 70,000 steps in seven days. I threw my pedometer in my pocket, loaded my Netflix cue on my iPhone app, plugged in my headphones and jumped on our treadmill. I got to 70,000 steps in six days. I couldn't have done that a month ago. And over the weekend I stepped on the scales and discovered, probably for the first time in my life, that I weigh less than my driver's license says I do! Molly was quick to tell me that I couldn't run out right then and re-do my license, but I assured her I wouldn't be waiting another five years before renewal to update. Yes, I am that vain!
Molly's Aunt Jan dropped me a note yesterday and asked how I was feeling. She caught me between bouts of sickness and I replied about what a sucky day it had been. Her response resonated in me. With her permission, I share a bit:
Truth be told, I don't yet know what picture is at the end of this leg of the hike. I very much feel like I'm meeting my new self each day. Ironically, I feel like more of myself instead of less. The journey's only begun, and surely there will be more bad days as well as good ones. Not to sound too cliche, but I guess those are the facts of lifeI know your girls are your inspiration. You are the little train that could. Isn't life one day at a time anyway? Wrapped in long-term planning? You'll go through periods where you redefine "normal." Each "normal" will be better than the last. It's hard to remember as we look at our feet taking each step that at the end of the hike is the prettiest set of falls. What picture is at the end of this leg of the hike?
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