So... my ability to walk has been greatly impacted this week. I am 99% sure that I have torn my meniscus, but to what extent, I'm not sure. I've been downplaying the extent of the severity, mostly to avoid dealing with some pretty grim emotions, and that old creeping fear of being a burden is starting to get louder and louder. Earlier today I was asked if I was ready to write...
"The short answer is no. I'm not ready to write. There's a can. I acknowledge the can. There's worms in it. I acknowledge the worms. They can stay in there a hot second."
I guess technically it's been a hot second, so I can take a peek in that can of worms.
In this moment I feel dread. People are going to ask questions. People ALWAYS ask questions. Friends and family? Ask away! Strangers on the street or patients at my job? We are NOT close, and you are not entitled to my medical history! But they will ask and if I bother giving them a smidge of info, the pity looks start. The "you're too young," the "but you don't look sick," the unsolicited diet advice and the "have you tried vegan or gluten-free or dairy free or intermittent fasting? You really should lose weight," or the good old "have you tried yoga?" I get that people want to offer solutions to things they view as a problem. Their hearts are in the right place and they want to feel helpful in a situation that to them seems hopeless. I *always* try to answer with a grateful "thank you for the idea!" even when I immediately file it in the trash can of unsolicited advice in my brain. Sometimes I want to absolutely flip the fuck out and scream "Why yes, Susan, I am familiar with yoga! I used to love it! But now that my wrist is fused from my fucking hand falling off, I can't even do downward facing dog without discomfort or modification and the prospect of having to lose yet another thing I once found joy in physically is just too overwhelming at the moment, so kindly go fuck yourself!" But I'm pretty sure I'd get fired for that. Instead I grit my teeth, smile, and say "thank you."
I didn't tell my mom that I had injured my knee. She's on vacation, and I didn't want to bother her, or make her worry while she's supposed to be enjoying herself. I made a post on IG, and my sister asked her what I did. Her response was "I'm on vacation, you know I am the LAST person Mer would call if she was hurt. She was probably waiting to tell me until I got home." Correct.
I also tried to downplay it to my coworker, as she has a scheduled vacation this week that I didn't want her to worry about. But last night I couldn't walk. I practically had to crawl to the bathroom, tears streaming down my face. In that moment I felt excruciating pain, embarrassment, fear, and dread. The physical pain is better, but the fear is gripping pretty tight.
I'm afraid of being cut open again. My body is peppered with various surgical scars, and I don't want to add any more. I'm also afraid of anesthesia... its harder to knock me out and bring me back up at this point. I don't want a standard arthroscopy to be the thing to take me out. I'm afraid of what kind of delay this will potentially make in my filing. I'm scared of being apart from J for any extended period of time - not for fear of him leaving me, but because he is SUCH a comfort and support for me. I'm worried that a recovery period will land me out of a job. I'm worried that this is yet another wakeup call that I can't sustain a regular job anyways.
I'm glad I can spit out my concerns and dreads here. There's more in there, but I'm emotionally fatigued just from draining this little bit. I'm sure I'll have more to say soon.
