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Recovery

Writer's picture: Doug WeissDoug Weiss

This past week I spent largely in a hospital bed recovering from surgery that left me weak but much relieved of a debilitating condition I have lived with over this past year. I had plenty of time to reflect during my convalescence as I was confined to bed and unable to do much for myself. Once I was able to get back on my feet and walk the halls of my ward-albeit with unaided though tentative steps, the real work began. I was surprised to see how weak I had become and dismayed at what lay ahead to restore my body and mind to their former state. For once, I felt my age and what I saw in the mirror reflected what I felt.


Returning home was both a relief and a challenge, eager as I was to attend both to my physical restoration and the many chores left undone or half done. Not surprisingly my eagerness to have at the work at hand was met with a reality check. I was physically unable and my surgeon had advised doing anything too strenuous for several weeks. He need not have issued the injunction—I hit the wall well before I could do any harm. Enforced idle is not something I have had to address much in my life, but it is not altogether a bad thing.


My initial reaction was a bit of frustration that I could not do much to begin the process of restoration—physical and mental. Frustration gave way to gratitude as I began to inventory the many blessings I had received. The surgery was successful, no underlying disease was found, and the long-term prognosis is excellent. I will have to be on medication for a few months to address a post -surgical issue and take extra care of my physical being more than I am accustomed but these are small issues in the scheme of things. Still, they require that I move slowly and with deliberate care.


I am used to spending my energies with a lack of concern. There has always been a reservoir of strength on which I could rely. Though I am confident it will replenish, at the moment no such reserve exists, so like it or not, I must consider every action and mete out what strength I have; existence taking precedence over those things I want to accomplish. Bathing, dressing, eating, are the chores of the day and anything beyond that is relegated to some future date and time. Living this way with a deliberation borne out of necessity is sobering. Those who suffer from more permanent disability must cope with these restrictions every waking moment while they are only a temporary limitation for me. Anything I am able to accomplish beyond the necessities is a personal triumph—something to be celebrated and a sign of re-gathering strength.


My thoughts too seem a bit wooly. Whether it is a lingering effect of the anesthesia or some other artifact—I find my focus drifting, my emotions muted. Writing this post is more taxing than I imagined it would be—while dozens of stray thoughts flit in and out of mind. Indeed, it is miraculous what medicine is capable of restoring but the little death we pass through on our way back to life is also a reality. We live our lives largely denying our mortality. Newly reminded, I find myself thinking a great deal more about how I hope to spend what time is accorded me.


Perhaps we should not regard this process as recovery. I’m not sure that I want to restore precisely the state of mind I possessed before, any more than I wish for the state of health that preceded the surgery. I want to regain strength and purpose, but not carelessly. The late afternoon sun streaming through the window reveals unseen dust and, smudges on the screen, a grittier reality than I usually see. It is the same reveal post surgery that awakens me to those things I must attend to in my life. I have a lot to attend, and thankfully the time in which to do so.


My wish for you is this same awareness without the necessity of a life altering event. Peace is sometimes in the small and quiet moments—the restoration of the soul in our reckoning of our relationships and the love we engender.

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