I think I’ve decided that the emotional recovery from surgery is much worse than the physical one.
I spent most of yesterday in tears… not because I was in physical pain (although there’s plenty of that, too), but because I was just sad and frustrated and, well… I just felt like crying!
It’s really hard to go from being the multitasking mom, who basically takes care of everyone and everything in the house, to being the patient, who isn’t allowed to do much of anything. I’m just supposed to take my meds and lie in bed? What?? That concept is totally foreign to me. And even though it sounds like it should be a heavenly “vacation” of sorts, it’s actually really difficult.
I’m no stranger to depression. And anytime I feel really depressed, I sleep… a lot. When I can’t handle all that’s been heaped on my plate at any given time and just feel overwhelmed with life in general, I sleep. And cry. And sleep some more.
It usually takes medication and lots of talking to my sorry self in the mirror to come out of one of those bouts of depression. Yet, here I find myself taking medication that induces sleep and worthlessness, and everyone yelling at me to “get in bed!” and “get some rest!” and “don’t worry about what’s going on with the kids/dogs/house/bills/etc!”
Really, one little surgery and the loss of one little ovary have pretty much turned the world as I knew it upside down.
But I’m recovering… physically and emotionally… one step at a time. And I’m already looking forward to the day when I’m back to normal and my kids are demanding things outta me and I’m allowed to once again run myself ragged.