Yesterday I severely dislocated my knee. My left knee. The knee I had surgically reconstructed 20 years ago.
It was bad. I knew it was bad when I hit the ground. I popped it back and KNEW it wasn't right. This isn't one I can simply walk off. Hell, I couldn't "walk" at all. One million dollar ambulance ride later, and they confirmed I got it back in, but will require an MRI and surgical consult.
It makes me sick to my stomach. I'm going to miss work. Surgery will be so hard on me. I'm not sure how I'll see my kids or J or how I'll manage, quite frankly. I just want to curl up on J's couch, but I can't drive. I can't do anything but lay here and be kind and gracious and pretend everything is fine while I'm rapidly dying on the inside. I have already endured 31 years of this constant pain (starting at 11), the hyper vigilance of each step I take. 31 years of fear, of pain, of no way to make it stop.
It will never stop.
Doug proved long ago that he couldn't handle it. That he didn't want to handle it. It was scary and hard and it was beyond him. I'm terrified it will be too much for J too. He's already on edge with so much of his own stuff. I frankly wouldn't blame him, but fuck I can't imagine a life without him.
I'm so scared.
I debated briefly saying something on fb, but I don't need pity, and that's all it would be. It's not the social community for me as it is for others. And what point would crawling out of the social media woodwork do? Nothing. But damn I do feel pretty lonely and stuck in my own head.
Merry Christmas
No comments:
Post a Comment