I’m scared and angry. Scared that I won’t heal quickly or properly, angry that I was injured at all and at how difficult it’s been to get treatment for my injuries. I’m also sick and tired, my appetite is poor and libido slack. At this rate I can expect maybe two bowel movements a week. And no orgasms.
I’m already in the process of letting go of the dream that I can qualify for the Boston Marathon this year. I doubt I’ll be able to compete in the next cyclocross race I’m signed up for. And who knows when my left shoulder, which already suffered from tendinitis, will be healthy and pain-free enough to swim again?
Instead, there’s probably going to be lots of boring, repetitive physical therapy exercises. I’ll get to slowly wean myself off pain medication without the endorphin kick I might get from a trail run. And I’ll have to do it while back at work every day.
Did I mention the persistent nausea? Excuse me for a moment.
I’m already starting to feel slow and old and depressed and fat and forgetful and ugly and crippled and ashamed. I’ve been craving World of Warcraft. My moods seem about as stable and consistent as those of a depressed junkie. Which? Anyway, I haven’t even been able to muster the energy to follow up about the bike theft in my building.
In theory, I’ll have shoulder surgery on Tuesday and hopefully get an appointment with a maxillofacial surgeon for that week. No idea how long I’ll be laid up or on meds after that. Not to mention dealing with the paperwork and bills, insurers and lawyers. All of this grief given to me, and some of my hopes taken away in the blink of an eye by a seventy year old woman taking a left turn and failing to yield who didn’t even see me until after I was unconscious on the ground.
Nothing to do but make another berry smoothie and work on patience and compassion, I guess. Be thankful she didn’t take it all away. Be proud of how strong I’ve become that I’m sure I can ultimately survive this and thrive—I’m betting I’ll be crossing the line in Sacramento on December 2nd as planned, if not as quickly.