When the going gets tough…

To say it’s been a tough couple of weeks is an understatement. Almost 2 weeks ago I had a procedure on my neck, called cervical RFA (to treat my migraines). I’m going to let you google that if you’d like to educate yourself. We were very poorly prepared by my very poor doctor for what we now know to be full blown surgery. We don’t know now if my recovery is not just going well, or if the doctor made a terrible mistake. The doctor has made the chilling statement, “I have no explanation”, which sounds a lot like, “I take no responsibility, please don’t sue me.” He seems to have no explanation for my very negative reaction, although Dr. Google is teaching me that a cervical RFA recovery can be very painful. We don’t know what’s happening and why our doctor can’t explain it. We just know that ever since the day of the procedure, I have been in excruciating pain, and am unable to hold my head up for more than a few minutes. I’ve found myself laying awake at night, wondering how long I might not be able to participate in my own life. I’ve been guilty of letting fear wash over me. Fear of addiction to prescription medications, fear of depression, fear of wearing my dear husband out, simply the fear of being invalid. I know that a 2 week recovery may not sound like much, but this journey began with my strained neck and the migraines that it triggered back in mid-summer. Chronic pain, I am learning, can turn you into a crazy person and mine has been escalating for months. I want to sit around and be super angry with my doctor, but last night my mother in law (who’s been down this road), gave me some really deep and complex advice: Get Over It. Probably the smartest thing I’ve heard all month.

Anyhow, you know what’s coming,  don’t you? The upside. When we came home from that very devastating doctor’s appointment, it was time to kick off Thanksgiving week. I was wallowing something fierce. And then our house filled up with friends for 4 days straight. I am the textbook definition of an extrovert. It drove me nuts to not be able to get up and DO things for my guests, but they were unfazed. They brought their own food, cooked in my kitchen, cleaned, and served my family. Friends have cleaned my house, dropped off portable heating pads, meals, milkshakes (enough of those, guys-I can’t button my jeans anymore!), and one has even done my grocery shopping! Stu has cleaned non-stop. His patience seems to be unending. My little boy is learning about taking care of his Mama. He has been so precious, I honestly don’t know what’s come over him, but when I ask him to help me with something, he jumps.

A couple of recovery stories:

Stu and I fought all weekend over whether or not I could go to church Sunday. I’m not doing well with being cooped up.  I thought I could just go and bring my pillow, and lean my head up against something. He didn’t want me to. So the little sneak snuck out of the room Sunday morning and they left for church without waking me up! I woke up to a completely dead house at 9:30am. I can’t drive on the pain pills, so I did what anyone would do in my shoes. I called the neighbor and asked her to give me a ride to church. Well, blogland, I wish you guys could have seen my dear husband’s face. It was a quick church visit. He’s pushy, that one. It’s going to be a long recovery.

Saturday, my little one walked into the bathroom after I had finished my shower. I was sitting in my robe, laying my head on the vanity. The shower had been all I could handle and I didn’t know how I was going to get my hair dry. B excitedly offered to blow dry my hair for me. I’m kind of a control freak, and having a 5-year-old fix my hair just sounds like a recipe for disaster. Im trying to let go, though, so I agreed. And my boy did such a good job (except when he liked to watch my hair shoot “STRAIGHT UP!!”)! I’m beyond impressed with him. Instead of becoming more whiny and behaving badly, he’s becoming more grown up.

They’re back at school and work now and I have no idea who is supposed to be letting the dog out or taking out the trash. Come home, boys!


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