Sunday, February 2, 2020

Twelve's A Charm

Thursday marked my twelfth foot surgery, this one on my left foot. I've had more on that side than my right, but both feet are far from normal. I'm oddly optimistic about this one. I think I got used to a certain level of pain with both feet and sort of accepted discomfort would be a big part of my life. Maybe it doesn't have to be, though, or maybe it doesn't have to be so unyielding and intense.

On paper, this procedure looked far more complicated and invasive than others, but it's actually not. The joint repair I had years ago, when described to me, both sounded like and was a fairly elaborate surgery with a long recovery time, and that one I experienced twice. This one, despite shaving the bone down in multiple areas and removing more scar tissue (man, my body is GOOD at creating that shit!) will probably be my quickest recovery to date. The incisions were all through the top of my foot, and it was done in-office.

I'm through the worst of it already. Thursday night wouldn't have been as bad as it was had I been able to take the pain meds I was given as prescribed. The first one I took really didn't sit well, so I was too afraid to take another one. After a mostly miserable night with sharp, stabbing pangs in my foot, I took some Aleve, which took the edge off on Friday morning, and since then, I have been able to take 1/4 a pain pill at a time without issue, except for my ulcer acting up a little. I really haven't taken much in terms of pain medication, which is a good sign, and, after getting the OK from my doctor, I can already limp around the house without crutches or a scooter.

Leading into the surgery, things hadn't been going all that well. A lot of mid-life crisis type questions have been floating through my head the last couple of months. Like many others, I've faced a lot of loss in the past few years -- some loss I was OK with and others hit hard -- and I wonder why I'm here. I can't say I've been very happy. When I ran well, I felt like I had purpose, maybe not a great one, but it was something that made me feel like I was doing the right thing, even though I was often miserable. These days, I don't feel like I fit in well in any area of my life. Volunteering at the vet clinic comes close, but it also leaves me with the realization that I missed out on a lot throughout my life. And when it hurt to stand, volunteering and pretty much anything else seemed like a chore.

For now, I'm working on a novel without knowing why. Sometimes I look at it and think it's a disaster, just complete shit, and other times I dig out an old passage that intrigues me. I have the story in my head; I just haven't been good about getting it fully out. It's bogged down by a lot of mundane blah blah and makes me realize that I never had a natural ability to write well. Few dyslexics do, but, for whatever reason, I keep plugging away at it.

Regarding the surgery, it won't fix everything. I knew that going into it, but it should help with a good portion of the pain I was experiencing. There are other issues going on, but this will at least address something. It won't cure my overall unhappiness or fix my tendency to be compulsive, but it will reduce some of the pain.

In the meantime, I set a few reading and writing goals for the year. Considering what a slow reader I am, I'm off to a decent start with the number of books checked off my list. My goal is half that of an avid reader I admire. Of the four I read in January, the only book I would strongly recommend is NOS4A2, unless you're curious about brain function and illness, in which case "Brain on Fire" was interesting.

When I seem down like this, it's because I am. It's not that I don't have happy moments; I do. It's just that, for me, life isn't really about being constantly happy. For some of us who are prone to depression, sometimes even having goals or doing small things can be difficult, so setting a few goals is actually a step up from where I was a few months ago. I'm not completely out of the woods, but I'm closer to feeling some kind of hope than I was. And being depressed doesn't mean I don't laugh or have fun. I do, especially listening to podcasts like Small Town Murder and Crime in Sports. But, I'll say it again. Depression is something I've struggled with that's separate from recovery. The two can be connected, but they are not really the same issue.


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