Day 11 of my captivity....
Well, here I am at 1.5 weeks post-surgery. (For those of you unfamiliar with my hip surgery, I had a labral tear and femoroacetabular impingement -- which basically meant a cartilage tear and a deformed thigh bone head. During my surgery, the tear was removed and the deformity was "Dremeled" down. Consequently, I am on "non-weight-bearing" status for six weeks.))
Unsurprisingly, over the past week or two, I've experienced a few untoward incidents, most notably falling down a flight of stairs when my bullheadedness (I am "option recognition deficient") led me to try to crutch my way downstairs alone after my husband had left the apartment to run an errand.
Apparently, I need a "spotter." Or a sitter. Or something like that. I just know that life in the past two weeks has left me feeling woefully dependent on Eric -- and that I hate this feeling.
I'd already become somewhat acquainted with dependency through my RA: after all, I no longer open cans and jars; I can't lift as much as I used to (e.g., Amos, my 20-lb cat); I need help when trying to stand from a kneeling position; I can't always do the dishes; etc.
And because I've been off Enbrel now for 5 or so weeks ("No immunosuppressants for you during surgery and recovery!"), I've noticed a vicious strengthening of some of my worst RA symptoms: the pain, the fucking neuropathy, the fatigue (especially since I'm trying to haul my fat ass around using only my arms / upper body. It's like watching a Hershey's Kiss try to navigate on crutches. But mmmm: chocolate.), the trembling with overuse of my hands, etc.
But there is something particularly galling about having to be helped up from the toilet. And especially not being able even to carry a book from the bedroom to said toilet (need the hands to guide the crutches, after all. And I hate being bored in the bathroom.).
It all makes me feel vulnerable. And that, in turn, makes me feel angry. Of course, there is nothing on which I can focus this anger. Worse yet, there's nothing I can do to change the situation. I simply must make my way -- however angrily or however slowly -- through it. I need to endure.
In my quieter moments, I find myself hoping fervently that my current situation is not a harbinger of things to come.
But the truth is that RA confers upon the body a tremendous beating. Certainly, it has given me an advance look into that stage of life that my parents are entering now and my grandparents already passed through.
And it's a bit daunting and frightening. For me, anyway.
Helpful tip of the week: Alcohol and crutches DO NOT mix.
That is all.
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