I'm such a sham.
I write these posts, and I attempt to come across somewhat positive, but behind the scenes I'm a whiner. I cry after every single physical therapy session. I cry not only from the overwhelming pain, but also with the fear that my right leg may never be like it used to be.
I started my New Year (June 1--see my last blog), and it started out well. Steve and I went to the Senior Water Aerobics class and I felt stronger. My pain was tolerable. I even swam some laps in the pool. After we got home though, my energy was zapped. I needed a nap. I kept reciting my new mantra, "do what inspires you," as I rested in bed most of the afternoon until my physical therapy appointment.
I really expected June 1 to be my last P.T. appointment. And I reserve the right to be wrong again! They keep upping the ante with more exercises and I continue to feel that I've not made enough progress to stop. They say, "good job!" as they tell me, "you should be doing these exercises every day. The Senior Water Aerobics is not enough." At the end of every session, I sob. Then my friend Brian picks me up and we go to "Happy Hour."
I also occasionally shed a few tears when a potential real estate deal falls through--I'm especially vulnerable now, with my hospital bills looming. This past Friday, a deal fell through and I found out by phone on the way to Senior Water Aerobics. As I danced in the pool, I fought back the tears when I shouted out to Steve with a forced smile: "Ah well, it's the Summer of Fun!"
I'm at the 13 week mark today. Life is back to business as usual. I'm back to making dinners at home, back to work with real estate, and back to trying to keep my self-imposed fear demons at bay. I've come a long, long way with my leg, but I have no idea when I'll be walking normally without pain and a cane.
So today, I recite the mantra: "Expect progress, not perfection." (A slogan borrowed from Alcoholics Anonymous)