going home

Currently: 

    This past Tuesday marks six weeks since my surgery. Though I'll never be back to "normal", I am healing. I can feel my nerves reconnecting which is creating pain in odd areas. The area above my belly button is tender and red. My stomach incision is painful and becomes more so when wearing clothing that has a horizontal seam such as jeans. My sleep patterns have also become more and more erratic. I've been taking melatonin, restless leg medication, and my prescription sleep aid and still only averaging 4-5 hours of sleep per night. I've never had a healthy sleep pattern, but since my surgery, my rest has grown increasingly inconsistent. As I try to fall asleep, I cannot force my mind to calm. I have racing thoughts and fears that don't allow me to rest. The aforementioned pains make comfort nearly impossible. I have an appointment with my general practitioner tomorrow to discuss ideas to help.

Continuing:

    The Saturday morning following my surgery, February 20, 2021, I was discharged from the hospital. The nurse took me to the exit in a wheelchair and my brother picked me up at the door. The most noticeable change when my daughter saw me was that I could hardly walk. Because of the diep flap, I was unable to walk upright. For the first few weeks, I was hunched over because my stomach incision and the site of the removal of the abdomen tissue were tight and painful. I was also not able to walk more than a few feet without becoming greatly fatigued. When I got home from the hospital, I changed into a full-body zippered fleece robe. When I was changing, Penelope walked down the stairs and saw my drains. When she saw me, she started to cry and ran back upstairs. This moment was worse than any of the pain I had experienced. I broke down sobbing when she ran away, terrified that I had traumatized my daughter. 

    My Aunt was staying with her while I was in the hospital and for the first two weeks of my time home. My Aunt spoke to her and asked her why she ran away. She said that the tubes connected to my drains looked like they were filled with blood. I have always done my best to protect Penelope from everything. I even committed to this surgery to protect her from the loss of her mother. A pain that I would not wish on anyone.

    When I got home, I couldn't do much. I was not allowed to lift anything heavier than a gallon of milk nor raise my arms above shoulder height. If you know me, you know that I don't do well with relying on others, asking for help, or sitting still. Silence is difficult for me. Silence, inability, and fear are a devastating combination. I spent most of the following days crying because of pain, doubt, and an internal ambivalence about my decision. I didn't look in the mirror for days because I didn't want to see myself. When I finally did, I was paralyzed, overwhelmed with what I looked like now; what I would look like forever. I fe(el)lt like Frankenstein. Imagine looking in the mirror and being truly devastated by what you see, to feel truly hideous. Worthless. Unrecognizable.