Saturday, February 24, 2018

I hope you feel better tomorrow, mom

It's been a bit of an uphill battle since my surgery 10 days ago. The pain is not really subsiding, I'm certainly worse off than I was pre-surgery and this has been a tougher than expected recovery. I've had some weird side effects that I'm still sorting through - several of which make me think that I really do have an infection. Monday - when I receive my results - can't come too soon.

This is all substantially easier to manage than the emotional "hope you feel better" comments I'm getting from my kids. They don't know what to say, they want me to feel better, and this is their best way to express their concern and genuine hope that I will feel better.

If I've never said it before, let me be clear, I have awesome kids. They are kind, witty, smart and compassionate. Chelsea is 10 now, and I had my first shoulder replacement when she was 2 and Patrick was 4. They've only ever known me in and out of shoulder surgery. The questions and answers have changed over the years, and I've been honest with them as best I can without scaring them. Kids need to know parents are both human and superheroes at the same time. I can be sick, but I will duel to the end with my arch enemy (RA) and I will win. Kids need to know that, they need the reassurance of our permanence.

Tonight I was watching a movie with Chelsea, and she asked how I was (I looked a little slumped and in pain, which I am) and I said I was just ok. She then commented that I'd had a big day and it made sense I didn't feel good. She knows that me overdoing it equates to pain and fatigue - not really in those words, but the concept is there.

How do I tell them that I will never get better tomorrow? I may feel better, but that my health trajectory is likely heading downwards, not upwards. Not to be negative or hopeless, but I have a chronic condition that does not currently have a cure. I've been in a steady decline of my health in the past few years between the surgeries, failed medications and increased pain. My "tomorrow" does not appear to be any day soon.

I was listening to sad acoustic covers (that is actually a playlist on Google Play) and came across "Lean On" which is normally a dance track, but I liked this acoustic cover. And until I feel better, I'm glad I have them to lean on.

1 comment:

Rick Phillips said...

I recall when my young son talked to me first about diabetes. I still chokes me up to think of it.

http://www.radiabetes.com/talking-kids-chronic-illness/

As I look back on it I recall it was the time my son signaled he was growing up. I thought him asking about disease was sad for him. As I look back it has occurred to me that I was sad for me. I hated knowing that he was growing up.