I feel a heightened need to get this website up and running. As we approach these final steps, placements, images, edit and re-edit, I am beginning to believe it might be a one off. Compiling everything I’ve written to date.
Will this be like one of my paintings, songs or finished piece of wood? Done, put on a shelf, buried away, replaced by the next work?
This project needs different treatment, this journal detailing my past and my hopes for a better future. As long as I have time left to try to reach it, the better future. The journal goes on as long as I go on, stopped only if my strength or mental health won’t allow me to carry on.
Each of these posts are almost like a small piece of art in and of themselves. The website is my gallery of works.
Or, this website served its purpose in allowing me to better understand and accept myself, be fully true to one’s self as the adage goes. Authentic. Showing myself some love and compassion.
The fear of this being a one-off project is based solely on my current physical health. Since having the eye surgery, a vitrectomy to be precise, I find that my pain level has risen 2 points. On a scale of 1 – 10 that’s a 20% jump. The pain controls me more, taking away time, eating into my day.
The end of winter and I was hoping I would be able to get back out in the world. Back to driving up to the lake, enjoying the peace and solitude. An easy hour drive, fish 3 hours, an hour home.
I am afraid of making the drive now since I can’t seem to escape this pain. My lower back, hips and legs start off bad in the morning, intolerable by mid-day, and killing me by night. More morphine? No, that’s not the solution. More strong-willed? No, I’m giving it about all I can. Stoic. Yeah sure.
It was the recovery period that did me in, actually the positioning required to keep a gas bubble in its proper position to keep pressure on the retina so it reattaches. You never realize how fascinating something can be, like how the eye functions with all the various components, until something goes wrong. If only it wasn’t me that is the patient here that required this extra knowledge. Then it would be fascinating.
For 15 days I had to keep my forehead basically glued to the countertop or looking at my shoes. Looking up, even the tiniest bit, could reduce the success rate of reattachment. My right retina was pretty badly torn, and detached. Prognosis was I would gain 50 – 80% of my sight back.
So of course I did my damnedest to follow the rules completely. It’s impossible to do this 100% of the time, but looking back I was in the 90th percentile. Proud of myself for the effort. I did everything I could to keep my face down at all times, not even a sideways glance. Slept on my left side with my head hanging over the pillows, but usually sitting up on the couch for an hour or two.
Absolutely do not lay on your back.
Getting any rest in this position was near impossible. I’d go from sitting at the kitchen island to pacing the floors. I thought I’d be smoking twice as much, but I actually cut back in fear of the smoke inhibiting the healing process.
Sleep was had by sitting up on the couch, with my chin on my chest, after exhaustion took over. 3 hours a night, maybe 4 if I was really lucky. Sleeping in this position, along with sitting or pacing took its toll on my legs.
The recovery process was a lot more difficult than it seems, or at least what I expected. Now 2 months after the surgery my eyesight has returned to about 50%, most things a foggy blur and distorted. The gas bubble has shrunk from completely covering my vision down to a dime sized dark spot.
Edema and swelling started again, every cell in both legs filled with fluid. An extra 20 pounds put on over the 2 weeks, just fluid retention, culminating in an infection in both lower legs. The same cycle as always.
Now I can barely walk. Somehow I have lost the ability to take a simple step without being in severe pain. It radiates down my spine to the lower back, the hip joints and both legs.
Stairs are becoming a major challenge, I have to limit how many times I climb them. Weather allowing, I take the dogs out for a walk, well, more like a pull than a walk. 2 blocks away and I’m beginning to wonder if I can make it back home.
That simple chore is enough to take it out of me for the day. I’m shot really. The rest of the day is spent fighting the pain, trying to write or play piano, trying to ignore it.
I spent more time worrying now about losing my ability to be mobile, to be able to keep moving. All the complications of just living if this does get any worse. Is it controllable? I’m beginning to have my doubts.
My apologies for the incessant whining.
I need a break, but none seems to be coming. I’ll keep pushing through though, what else can a person do?