-Isms: Views on life in rural America

“Patience is a flower which doesn’t grow in everybody’s garden.”

I wonder if the originator of the aforementioned quote ever went through hip replacement surgery.

At this point, this patient is becoming impatient. I’m ready to ditch the walker but, after 15 or so steps, I realize I need it for stability. I’m ready to go upstairs, but the 15-step trip down to the landing worries me. I’m ready to sleep in my own bed because, even though I complain to Scott it’s time for a new bed, our memory foam bed is much more comfortable than the contraption in the grandkids’ bedroom.

I’m a wee bit impatient with some of the physical therapy exercises. How many knee kicks and heel-toe touches does it take to regain muscle function? It takes three 20-minute sessions a day. Obviously, when I first returned to work and exercised all day long, it was overkill. So said the doc.

I’m impatient with how exhaustion now settles in easily. I know, I hear you. “LuAnn, you just had major surgery.” I get it. I do. “Your body needs time to heal.” I understand that. But, falling asleep in my office chair at 3 p.m., on a Tuesday, isn’t normal. Falling asleep for a two-hour nap may be something I could get used to on weekends, though.

I’m impatient at the lack of appetite. The broccoli for lunch tasted like recyled cardboard - and I’m not exactly sure how I know how recyled cardboard tastes. Even a Twin Bing doesn’t satisfy the sweet tooth like it used too. Nothing tastes good, except the #11 at Michael’s Cantina. That will never change.

I’m impatient with, well, with me for thinking I need to be at the top of my game after two weeks out from surgery. Granted, the doc did call me a rockstar as I maneuvered around the hospital hallways, but that doesn’t mean life always needs to be lived at full speed ahead.

Usually, it’s the little things that remind us of what matters most after a major life event, like the things and people we tend to taketake for granted.

Scott has been the real rockstar, building a ramp so I can scoot into the house, fixing meals, assisting with PT and rearranging the deck furniture so I can enjoy the sunshine. And, I am grateful for the support system of friends and neighbors and coworkers who make life flow naturally, handling details and putting out small fires, when needed.

In the back of my mind, I have a timeline for when I can resume my regular routine, including walking on my terms, without any help. Then, watch out. Step one takes place next week, when staples are removed from the 13-inch incision. If I’m a day or week or month off the timeline, so be it. I’ll try to be patient.

I’m learning to be patient, being strong enough to let go of preconceived notions, being patient enough with myself and the recovery process. Sometimes you trudge through the worst to get to the best outcome. Those are lessons everyone can learn.