Adventures in Recovery

**(This is a follow-up to the two previous posts)**

The day I came home from the hospital, all I wanted was a cup of hot tea. From my perch on the couch, I estimated whether I could manage this feat: 30 seconds to walk to the kitchen, two minutes to heat up the water, 30 seconds to steep the tea bag and 30 seconds to shuffle back to the living room. Surely I could handle three minutes and 30 seconds on my feet!

What I didn't calculate for was the time it took me to reach my favorite, brightly colored coffee mug from the top shelf of the cupboard. I could not reach my right arm over my head without hunching over in pain. My left arm came to the rescue, but not without me having to raise my left leg in hopes of boosting my hand to the mug's handle. This extra minute was exhausting.

Two weeks later, the healing has started. I finally resumed exercising today (walking - jogging isn't quite agreeing with me yet), and this morning I almost crawled out of bed before noticing any pain.

However, if you had asked me last week about my thoughts on this healing process, I wouldn't have been quite so optimistic. On Monday, I was still having intense pain that was keeping me from spending more than 15 minutes on any activity that involved standing; the irrational side of me was sure the surgeon had missed something and I was going to have to go back to that dreadful land of one-eyed nurses and post-surgery panic attacks.

Thankfully, at my follow-up appointment that same day, my doctor assured me the pain was to be expected, as recovery for this type of surgery is normally two to four weeks. I was thankful there was nothing else wrong; I was NOT so thankful to know I could be laid up for a month.

I obviously did not hide my shock very well, as my doc's next words were: "I'm sorry Amanda, I'm pretty good at what I do, but one thing I can't control is recovery time."

It wouldn't have been such a big deal except that no one told me this. (Although I pause here to ponder if I asked about this issue, as a good patient should. I reason with the fact that I was pretty drugged up at the hospital, so they should have offered the information, right? Right.) Having to pretty much estimate my recovery time, I had taken it upon myself to decide it would take no more than one week. I'm not sure why one week was the magic time frame, but it was. And I was not pleased to find out my time frame had been expanded.

But rather than dwell on it, I decided there was nothing to do but refill my pain medication and try to enjoy a little R&R while I could. It's hard to complain when the laundry and dishes were magically getting done by someone other than me!

I used my recovery time to focus on listening to my body and respecting what it could and could not do. I know it's a bit cliche, but it really is amazing how we take for granted an able body, once it is crippled by something we cannot control. As my physical body nears its healing peak, my less-than-pleasant surgical experience becomes a small price to pay for the return of my health. I'm particularly thankful to have found a treatment option that will not terribly disrupt my life.

And so I move on with my life, a little more thankful for being able to painlessly reach my favorite mug from the top shelf...