Tomorrow, as long as I don’t test positive for the big “C”, I will be having foot reconstruction surgery. Let me just say, that out of all the body parts that I thought I might have reconstructed, around this time in my life, my foot was not one of them. Don’t be jealous of my fancy foot or my stylish new scooter being delivered today. It even has a basket. I am thinking about adding a horn, some streamers, and maybe stickers.
The preparation that I have put into this reminds me of how I operate while trying to get ready for vacation. And don’t get me started on my needy mother. Ever since she found out about my incapacitation, she has fallen and twisted her ankle. (Don’t worry. She is absolutely fine. In fact, yesterday, I told her to put on her shoes and walk for me. She didn’t even limp.) She’s dramatic and extremely codependent on me. Sweet. Baby. Jesus.
I have been wound tight this week. My stress level is through the roof. This is my process before I truly let things go. My over sense of responsibility for every one else’s well-being is stifling. Truthfully, I only overcompensate when I am in fear. Right now, this surgery kind of scares the shit out of me. So many moving parts. A good friend reminded me that I don’t do life alone. Sometimes I forget that. I forget that despite this weird time we are in, and the fact I haven’t hugged my tribe in months, I am never alone.
All is well. I forget that too. Everything will be taken care of and I have an amazing spouse who will walk with me the whole time. Sure, he might be ready to murder me in a few weeks, but he always shows up. My mother will be taken care of too. I don’t have to take all of this on myself. So grateful that I have that awareness. That asking for help is not a weakness but an incredible strength. After all is said and done, I will have a newly constructed foot, and a snazzy scooter to transport me for three months. God’s got this and I just have to trust the process.