Anniversary, Part II

While Jerry had Covid for the bus anniversary, at least we had our wedding anniversary to look forward to. I was sedated and intubated for our twentieth, so we were looking forward to celebrating 21.

Ha. Along with Covid, Jerry had a cold, which now we both have. I can usually get over a cold in a couple of days, but not this one. We are both coughing a lot and generally feeling pretty crappy. So we canceled anniversary dinner with our neighbors and once again, got takeout.

It might sound counterintuitive, but not being able to celebrate I'm alive after being hit by a bus anniversary was harder. We will celebrate our wedding anniversary when we are feeling better, and somehow that seems fine. Maybe next weekend.

I did get out of bed long enough to take a shower today and that felt wonderful. I'm still doing most of that one-handed, as my orthopedist doesn't want me to ruin the good work he did on my rotator cuff and bicep, and neither do I.

While I was in the shower I thought about an article a friend had posted about grieving. It dealt with the author's loss of a child, but so much of it applies to all kinds of grieving.

I certainly continue to grieve elements of my life I have lost. And I grieve the loss of my leg. My residual leg is a mass of scar tissue. It's ugly. My chest has a long vertical scar that after almost a year is still itchy and uncomfortable. My arms are scarred and the metal plate on my left lower arm and elbow are palpable to the touch.

But the leg, of course, is the hardest. I will not wear shorts. I truly believe it could upset some people if they saw it. I wear pants or make sure dresses or skirts are long enough to cover it.

The leg really is representative of what I have really lost. Mobility. Independence. It will be a while and I will get a lot of that back. Not all of it, but a lot of it.

While I don't want to wish my life away, I feel like I should get a big calendar to cross off the days until July 27, the day of my osseointegration surgery. It will then be at least another eight weeks before I can start bearing weight, but it will be such a huge step in the already too lo g joirney of getting my life back.

These entries are truly akin to stream of consciousness, and I usually try to find something to lift myself up, something to look forward to, and no question I am looking forward to July 27. But maybe because I still have a cold, I'm mostly thinking of next week, when I might actually feel like getting out of bed again.

But then, that's something, isn't it?

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