It’s All Go – But Not in the Way I’d Hoped
Checking in pretty quickly today, because as I type, I’m sitting in the hospital waiting room.
You may have read that on Friday morning, as I was heading off to a meeting and feeling ridiculously excited to crack back into it, my left crutch slipped on a wet tile and my body weight landed on my bad leg.
I felt a twang, heard a pop and immediately resigned myself to the fact that my Achilles, which had been trying so hard to heal, had taken another hit (insert all the expletives here).
Damn this interchangeable Auckland weather.
Off to the hospital I went. I spent Friday in the waiting room. Saturday in the waiting room. And I had to be back in said waiting room by 7am this morning.
Thankfully, it’s moving a bit faster today. I literally just had an ultrasound on my leg, and although there can see a few fibres hanging on in there (told you it was healing good!), the doctor has decided that at this point, surgery will be the best option.
Mixed feelings. Curiosity. Optimism. Anxiety. Fear of the unknown.
But the main emotion I’ve felt over the last few days is gutteredness. And yes, I know that’s not really a word, but am taking a grammatical liberty as a way to feel badass again.
You see, since the injury happened, for the last 4 weeks and maybe for the first time in my life, I really have been looking out for number one. In an attempt to give my body everything it needs to recover, I haven’t been drinking. I’ve cancelled my summer plans. I’ve been eating well. Sleeping as much as possible. I thought I was doing everything right.
And I guess I’m guttered because it feels like this focus and commitment to getting better has all been in vain. My good intentions have been knocked back to square one. It feels like someone out there is laughing at me for even trying to stay positive.
The worst thing to do is try to rationalize this situation, or re-play the scenario over in my head to work out what I could have done differently. You see, what makes it extra frustrating is when it happened, I was crutching around looking for the elevator. I realized I’d walked past it, and as I was walking back towards it, the slip happened. Imagine if I’d seen the elevator on the first run. I wouldn’t be here.
There HAS to be something I can gain from this. There has to be something I can learn. There has to be some sort of reason.
Even though it feels backwards and regressive and slightly nonsensical, I’m determined to make this a worthwhile experience. I’ll keep treating myself kindly. I’ll keep searching for the good.
Because seriously. What else is the point?