Sept 27, 2012 - Day # 50 - Caution, merging traffic

Day 50: Recall how I was all worried about going back to work? Well, now I'm floundering through being back. I'm attempting to gracefully incorporate fatigue into leadership, wound-weary into deadlines, discomfort into decision making, and all around over it into living as a child of God. While I am embracing the normal routine and the appreciation of my old life coming back, I'm finding my old life now becoming a messy jumbled up intersection with that of my new. Balancing that merge is exhausting. I imagine it will soon be like an "x" shape, as the mastectomy life slows down more of the old life becomes visible and manageable again. But in this point of intersection and merging waiting for that to happen has me all bumfuzzled and teetering through any given day. It's like I don't know how to do any of it well, but rather skimping by on grace and true effort. Then, there are all of these thoughts and emotions I don't know how to communicate to those wanting to help me re-enter. I fear I leave Ron confused, coworkers unaware, and friends on the periphery. I go to work. I come home. I find a moment to feel frustrated and then I crash. I get up to do it again, desperately beckoning Friday to get here so that I have two days to recharge through some elements of sleep, activities of the norm, and a little excitement thrown in to remind myself life isn't about the house arrest of days gone by. But in ways, I feel like life around me is out running me. I am always about 4 steps behind and being aware of that propels me into well intended attempts to catch up. And the word attempts sums up the lack of success. I really needed to ease back in.  Instead, I jumped right off the end of the dock (out of necessity) with cement shoes on. Some moments feel manageable. A good decision made, an outcome worth celebrating. Other moments, everything I described above.

Yesterday, I worked my way back to the treadmill since the surgeon cleared me to resume activities. It was a pitiful sight for anyone who has ever walked even a yard. 2-2.5mph huffing and puffy (I did at least have it on the incline setting), with many stops between I made it 40 minutes. Drenched, heavy breathing, puddle of skin. Today, I climb back up. 2 mph, 15 mins, < 1 mile done. Can't even get down on the floor to get my shoes off for fear I won't get back up. Frustration. Do you recall my instant gratification personality setting? That just isn't working in my favor right now.

I want to snap my fingers and be back to "normal". I want to last long enough after a work day to go out to dinner. I want to make it through a date night with my husband. Can I survive a night out with the girls? Three miles on the tredmill. A good dose of motivation with enough umph to follow through. Maybe I am supposed to bounce back slowly. Maybe all mastectomy patients struggle with re-entry. Maybe I am the only person that doesn't bounce back immediately? I simply want to be a step further than I am. Then, I feel guilty that I am not.

See, it's all one big bowl of mixed up vegetable soup. The great news is the concept of the mastectomy no longer bothers me. I 100% made the right decision and it finally sits well with my soul. Now, I'm simply struggling through the re-emergence of normal life after having gone through something not so normal. And I just don't have the physical stamina and well-being yet to match the demands of life. Then comes the dissappointment when I'm too tired to cook dinner as I always have for my family. The frustration of not helping out with life's chores. The failure of the tredmill. The inability to keep the fast deadline driven pace of a project while balancing the demands of two jobs that both feel 100% right now. And then there are moments of laughter, conversations with people around me, encouragement in the mail (card #75 this week thanks to my friend Mary), Ron hanging in there.

I'm like a sponge pulling in everything of God's provision. His plan far exceeds mine, this I know. I've always trusted that. But for some reason that provision and faith isn't taking out the fatigue, wound-weary, and discomfort that often mingles with expectations.

But I'm hopeful. And maybe that is all that matters in moments like these. I hear Hope changes everything, and I happen to agree. Tomorrow, I will be Jolly and positive. It's how I do life. Right now, simply aware of hope.