It’s funny how inspiration leaves you when you’re busy. Maybe it’s not inspiration leaving, but the return to normal that you craved for when you were inspiring.
Now time is counted in past dates instead of future ones. I’m 18 months post transplant, 6 months post shoulder repair, 3 months post hip replacement, 2 years post splenectomy, in others words almost 3 years since my life turned upside down and broke.
I’m technically not acutely ill, but I am hot and heavy into rehab and recovery and it’s end is less definitive than the road to transplant. It’s marked by things that I’m able to do now as opposed to what I couldn’t just a few short days, weeks, months ago. 2 years ago, I was prepping for a foreseen trip to Boston. Confounded by a confusing condition that nobody was confident to treat. Recovering from unsuccessful chemo, craving the next step. This time last year, I was getting around mostly by wheelchair, my arms were killing me, my hair was wispy. I had survived the first critical 100 days and really so much more. 3 months ago I was 2 weeks post surgical from a hip repair 18 months in the making. 8 weeks ago I couldn’t walk faster than 1.7 mph without a severe limp and knee pain. When I earmark these things it’s because there were so many times I thought to myself, “I’ll never…” I’ll never be able to shop for my family. I’ll never be able to do yoga. I’ll never be able to have normal problems. But slowly I am. And sometimes I don’t know what to think about it. I am/was so consumed by grief. Grief so palpable it took my breath away and it still can catch me off guard in the most unusual of fashion. I was arguing with a family member the other day and I didn’t know whether to be justified in my argument or just be thankful to be having one over something relatively meaningless. I’ve now met people who know me no other way than this. My children will know no other mother than the one faced with challenges and who almost died. This is still not the person identify with. I don’t like this. I suppose it’s because my story is not finished- thank goodness. Slowly the I’ll nevers, have mostly become, “well, maybe someday. You never know (and I usually throw in a ‘stranger things have happened to me.’) How do you become a different person at 42? I’m thankful not to be inspired.
For now, for ever I will take my normal as it is. Full of 3 kids who won’t stay off their screen, 2 cats that are a little too plump and a husband who takes my breath away (read that however you want 😉
I know I’m superwoman
I know I’m strong
I know I’ve got this
Cause I’ve had it all along
I’m phenomenal, I’m enough
I don’t need you to tell me who to be.
I’m broken and it’s beautiful