I started this year with scheduled surgery on my calendar. It was going to be a very common procedure and we prepared as much as we could. Friends signed up to deliver meals, I had rides and pick-ups for school all ready, and everything was to go as planned. Except it didn’t.
I realized much later that it actually was probably one of the scariest days of my husband’s life. There were complications in the OR and my approximated surgery time went from 1-2 hours to 4 hours. My time in the Recovery ward went from 2 hours to 8 hours. All these extended hours without any update to my family was scary. Really scary. So here I am with a slow recovery process. We are thankful that in the end, I am a bit of a record breaker but I should not have any long-term issues regarding the surgery. But it’s a slow go so far 11 days in and I am not a person who likes to subscribe to slow. A few days after my procedure, my nurse was examining me and asked how my incision was and how I was feeling. I thought and I sheepishly said, “I’m numb and tender, does that make sense?” She said, “Absolutely. Your nerves were cut so that makes total sense.” I answered sheepishly. I don’t think that word even is going to explain it, but here’s the thing, it was such a weird statement, I felt really weird making it. I mean, is it possible to be numb and tender at the same time? Isn’t that an oxymoron?
When I took an attachment-parenting course 8 years ago, I learned about the internal conflict when we experience emotions that contradict themselves. This natural struggle is the basic recipe for breakdowns. This is my over simplification and over generalization. OVER. Really OVER.
(I am not a certified counselor, certified anything, well I am, but not for anything that would apply to thoughts on this. Did I say OVER?)
It’s when your insides are screaming, “I AM FEELING ALL THIS ON THE INSIDE BUT IT DOESN’T MAKE ANY SENSE!” So after my nurse left, I thought about this some more and I realized, I think many journeys of recovery start with the balance of numb and tender. Whether it’s been physical or emotional, I know how easy it is to have a co-dependant relationship with “numb and tender”. Man, I could easily choose escape or fear and be done with it all, but then I don’t think recovery could take place or begin.
In the surgical recovery ward, the nurses basically had one motto: you have to get up and walk. I had a roommate who was so resistant so I had heard him being taught / lectured / nagged repeatedly I heard, “you have to walk that’s the way to get better”.
My roommate had a lot of excuses. We were probably only a few years apart in age, and probably could have found out we had friends in common, but I was in recovery, not feeling social and he was annoying me. He had a 5lb tumor removed from his back and was saying he didn’t need to walk for another 8 hours after the first attempt. I had an 18lb fibroid (tumor in uterus) removed and wanted to yell through the curtain, “Bro, do you even lift? Get up, do what they are telling you so I can go to sleep!!!” (*might have been the heavy meds, hormones, but I was really bitter and not merciful in the hospital, I am not excusing this behaviour, I’m just acknowledging it as not who I aspire to be on a regular basis.)
I was in bed for 5 full days with a catheter. I was unable to get up and walk for 5 days, but even when my catheter was removed, I didn’t really feel like getting up for a walk. Really, I thought everything would be cool if I just stayed in bed and slept for a few more months. But…walking.
I was assisted in the transition from lying down, sitting for a bit to walking. My body threatened to pass out the first two attempts but by the third time standing, I was able to do it. And after I asked for my first assist the bathroom, I was ready to take on more.
The thing is, I was very happy to not walk, I was fine, they kept telling me that if I stayed in bed, I could get pneumonia and I thought, “I’m in my 40’s not in my 80’s, whatever.” But as soon as I started walking, I started coughing up phlegm. Phlegm, where the heck did that even come from, but it came up and demanded an exit route as soon as I started walking. And that phlegm was a total jerk. I mean, I had just had 18 staples removed from my abdomen; I didn’t really need coughing added to my activity list. Phlegm was totally inconvenient and inconsiderate, phlegm was a jerk, but it needed to get out and it only showed up after I started to walk.
So what, who cares, you know you have to walk. Well, maybe, but here’s my take away. No matter what it feels like, you have to get up and walk. Whether it’s recovery from something physical or emotional, you have to get up and walk. There are things inside that don’t even show their need to get out until you get up to walk. Things that need escape plans that cannot stay within your body, your heart, and your mind. Things that cannot stay contained even with well-planned and executed plans of escape to numbness. Things that cannot stay behind an emotional barb wired-fence / hazmat suit around your heart to protect it. If they stay, they threaten growth and that growth is dark and gross, like emotional mold. And I say that as someone who has a serious phobia about mold.
So for now, on my first step (see what I did there?) to recovery, I’m going to walk. I don’t know if it will lesson the numbness or the tenderness, but for now, I need to walk.