Grace

Last Friday was…tough. I woke up at 4am to the feeling of something running down my side. Yes, of course it was my left side. Yes, my incision was leaking a clearish, yellowish, blood-tinged fluid. It was gross. And drippy. And disgusting. And I was scared and annoyed and wide freaking awake. I’m kind of ashamed to admit that I woke my husband up at 4:05 to complain about the grossness that is my body. He was tired and probably frustrated with me but tried to be helpful.

I feel like my body isn’t currently my own. The scars are not that big a deal. I mean, whatever. But the leaking, the aching, the tugging. I feel like I can sense my hair dying, though none has fallen out yet.

I ended up wrapping a towel around my chest and sleeping in the recliner until Olivia woke up. I managed to get through getting her ready for school and then dressed myself, using a gauze pad and a wash cloth to continue to soak up whatever might be leaking out of my body. Ick.

I found myself at the doctor’s office at 8am, which, yay, is when they open. The nurse practitioner and doctor were both incredibly kind as they examined me. They declared that the leaking is actually a good thing. The fluid was clear, not cloudy, so no sign of infection. The fact that it’s coming out is a good thing because it means it’s not building up in my body. Still…can it just…not?

I did manage to make my way to work but felt pretty horrible most of the morning. I hadn’t showered due to the uh, leaking. I wasn’t sure I was supposed to. The doctor told me it was fine to shower. No immersion into water but showering is great. And I’d like to report, my shower on Saturday morning was awesome. So yeah, I felt gross, physically, emotionally, medically.

I’m so tired of feeling like I have to call my doctor every third day. And yet, I know this is something that will likely continue for many months to come. I know we have to do more damaged to my body before I can finally start to heal.

I’m afraid I’m not dealing with chronic illness with the grace I’d hoped I would. I’m not above feeling sorry for myself and that’s what I did on Friday. I was tired, I was scared, I was sick. I ended up going home at 11:00 that day, making a quick stop at Walmart for Fruity Pebbles and hamburger dill pickles. What?

I slept for the entire afternoon and most of the evening on Friday. I neglected my kids, my husband, my house and my job.

And on Saturday, I felt physically better. The leaking has mostly stopped. The nausea is mostly gone. I showered which meant I smelled better. I took the girls to the library, to lunch and to buy groceries. We did normal things and spent actual time together.

I know this isn’t forever but on Friday, it felt like it was. It felt like I was going to be sick forever and that I had been sick forever. I felt like a failure as a wife and a mother.

My dad wants me to extend an olive branch to my sister and there I sat thinking, “Why? I didn’t actually do anything wrong!?!” So that made me feel like I was failing as a daughter and a sister.

I haven’t been much of a friend lately either, so let’s add that to the list.

This journey is going to be up and down. I know this. I just pray to face the down moments a little more gracefully than I did last Friday. Or, you know, maybe just sleep through them again. That works too.