Tension is running high in our household. I woke up this morning sweating, my hair matted to my head, with a sore throat and aching joints. That was at 11 am when my dog, Penny, ran into the room, ears perked up, and dancing on the wood floors. Click, clack, click, click as she'd spin beside the bed, and then putting her sad face next to mine on the bed...staring, black nostrils flared as she purposely breathed loudly, her canine way of rousing me out of slumber. Matt had been downstairs for hours, coding, and for some reason Penny hates when we are not corralled in the same room. Click, click, click...we need to cut her nails.
The abdominal pain had resurfaced this weekend after breakfast on Saturday. It was a gorgeous day -- our cherry tree had erupted in charming white flowers in a matter of hours, and after the pain medication soothed my belly, I was up, doing errands, and helping my father-in-law with yard work, who was visiting for the weekend and helping Matt finish our laundry room. But by the evening, the pain had returned. As I waited for the pain medication to kick in, I realized it hurt to laugh, or even to take a deep breath. I thought, this is what it's going to be like after surgery (but worse).
Two friends on Friday commented on my strength. Although I am flattered they said this (and I boasted to Matt, maybe, five times about this), I do not feel strong. Today I am a ball of self-pity. There is nothing strong, or eloquent, about it. It's ugly and infantile. The women on Matt's side of the family have an annual "Ladies Weekend", which has taken us to D.C. and New York in past years. This weekend was Ladies Weekend, but I chose to not go, due to my health.
They visited Matt's cousin, Julia, who is a freshman at Penn State, and at the Nittany Lion Inn, met Penn State head coach Joe Paterno and had a group photo taken with him. They looked lovely and excited. If you're from Pennsylvania, or a fan of college football, you know Joe Paterno. And although I don't enjoy football, and don't get this whole "JoePA" thing, I was jealous! Although it was a wise decision not to go, I wanted to be there! I was mad at my disease for making me cancel. Instead I was lying in bed, nursing a sore torso.
When I woke up this morning, feeling more ill, I was testy, even to the dog. And I cried to Matt, snot running down my nose, and spouted ugly things like, "You have no idea what it's like!" and "Do you know how hard this is for me?!" Matt deviated from comforting me, to getting impatient and irritated. He has heard this all before. I realize this is hard for him, too, and it's not his fault he doesn't want to spend all day up in bed with me. Just because I reach for the pause button when I'm not feeling well, doesn't mean he needs to stop living, too.
So, I am ready for this surgery. I am scared shitless, and it might not make me better, but I am more scared of further isolated those around me. It's time to be strong, and I'm finally getting ready for Friday.