#124. Are We There Yet?

I keep telling myself there’s light at the end of the tunnel. At this point, I’m just hoping it isn’t another train—metaphorical or otherwise.

A month ago, I had a medical procedure that came up fairly quickly. Everything went well. I followed instructions. I rested. I walked. I wore the full-leg compression socks that tested circulation, character, and comfort.

And I started feeling better. Excellent, I thought. Onward!

Except lately, I don’t feel as good as I did two weeks ago.

More achy and tired. My brain occasionally wanders off without leaving a forwarding address, leaving a trail of words as breadcrumbs. Things that normally take me an hour take two. Emails sit unanswered. My ambition and my energy seem to have stopped speaking to each other.

I am frustrated.

Because somewhere along the way, I apparently decided recovery should proceed according to a tidy little schedule. Each week should be better than the one before. Progress should move obediently up and to the right. And both legs should heal equally.

You know. Like life always does.

Then, just to add insult to impatience, my birthday arrives this week. Normally, I love birthdays. Another trip around the sun! Cake! Friends! Celebration!

This year? Meh.

And that bothered me too. I should be excited about my birthday. I should be feeling better by now. I should be getting more done. I should have more energy.

There it was. Should. One of the most tyrannical words in the English language.

We create timelines for ourselves and then become annoyed when our bodies, emotions, careers, relationships—or lives—fail to adhere to them.

By 40, we should have figured this out. By 60, we should have accomplished that.

Four weeks after surgery, I should feel like myself again. And on my birthday, dammit, I should feel celebratory.

But bodies don't read calendars. Neither, for that matter, do most of life's transitions.

There are detours. Delays. Unscheduled stops. Occasionally, we discover that we've been sitting patiently on Platform 3 while our life has departed from Platform 7.

Perhaps aging in power means becoming a little less beholden to the timetable.

Not abandoning plans. Not giving up on progress. Just recognizing that running behind an expected schedule isn't the same thing as going backward.

That one I'm working on.

So, I will celebrate another birthday this week. Maybe a little more quietly than usual. I will continue doing what my body needs to heal. I will do what I can when I can—and try not to turn every low-energy day into evidence that something has gone terribly wrong.

I will keep looking for that light at the end of the tunnel, while listening carefully for a train whistle.

So if I’ve been slow getting back to you, or it seems like I’m avoiding you, I’m not. My post-op brain and body are working on their own timeline.

And you know me. Patience has NEVER been my virtue. I’m probably more frustrated than you.