My house is pure mayhem right now.
Family, guests, dogs … turkey in the fridge.
Fun chaos, but chaos nonetheless.
I have a secret.
Ever since my car accident, there's a (big) part of me that dreads the holidays.
There's so much I love about this time of year, but no matter what I do –
No matter how I try …
I end up in terrible pain.
Everyone else seems so cheerful and happy, and festive. I smile outwardly while cringing with awe-inspiring pain.
I remember, years ago, being chided by The Torturer (my then physical therapist).
"You can't do everything you used to do," he'd scold me, sternly.
And I try, I really do TRY to "not do" things.
Regardless, I guess I do more than I'm capable of I should.
It's already started.
A few days ago, along with the arrival of guests, my pain began increasing.
"Why?" I asked myself, exasperated.
I'm asking people to lift things for me.
I'm trying to avoid any and every thing I know will aggravate my arm/shoulder/neck/back.
And yet …
The pain creeps in. Like an evil demon it grows, it climbs higher, it breaks down the fortresses I've built to protect myself.
I concentrate on breathing deeply. I take slow, methodical, breaths when I'm actually tempted to hold my breath instead. (Because, when pain is that bad, it hurts to breathe.)
There's a part of me looking forward to all the wonderful things the holidays entail,
And a part of me dreading the next few weeks.
I'll have family members lift the turkey and chop vegetables for our Thanksgiving "feast" tomorrow. Briefcase and the boys will be in charge of scrubbing pans once the cooking is completed.
I'll be aggressive with the programs I run my bionic arm on.
I'll take pain meds early in the day, like I'm supposed to,
(Instead of waiting as long as possible, as I'm prone to do).
I'll also count my blessings –
Because they are many,
And that's one thing I never forget ….
© Twenty Four At Heart