Re-emergence.

Hi friends.

“Hi, Mom! Where have you been, I MISSED you!” says my 6 year old’s PE teacher excitedly as I drop him off this morning at car line for the first time in probably close to three weeks.

“I know, right?” is all I can manage with a smile on my face because I’m not about to come to a rolling stop saying, “Well, I had this tumor and then a hysterectomy and well, yada yada yada…here I am!”

Today I’m re-emerging into society. I can drive now (hurrah!) and later today I’m getting the bag off (double hurrah!) It’s the accessory no one wants to wear, that goes with nothing, that’s good for no seasons. *snicker*

This should all be very exciting and I thought it would be! In fact, I had initially written this post entirely about the bag and compared it coming off excitedly to the movie “Face Off” (because I compare everything in my life to a movie) only with a bag instead of a face (“Bag” - dramatic pause - “OFF!”)

Yet, after spending over two weeks within the safety net and confines of my home and hours upon hours of HGTV House Hunter marathons, I’m finding re-emergence incredibly and unexpectedly difficult. 

I’m like a cat in a sweater.

In fact, this week is turning out to be an emotional one. See, this is the stuff that no matter how hard you research what happens during the cansuh/hysterectomy recovery, no one tells you. They tell you it comes with an emotional price tag but they don’t tell you that there are unforeseen triggers and that while you’re sad about the surgery itself, there’s also a chance that you’ll be sad that the world has continued turning and bustling while you were at home dealing with it all.

In my mind, sadness over this fact ventures dangerously into the “poor me” zone and so I try quickly to dry it all up when I suppose that whatever raw emotion I’m feeling and for whatever reason, really is probably quite ok and normal. Because it, too, shall pass if I give myself time to grieve it. Right?

The thing is, it’s like how I felt with postpartum. I don’t actually know what I’m so upset about. I find myself crying over anything. And everything. And I don’t know why.

And I want to crawl back into bed.

I suppose there are a few things that bother me…

There’s the fact that it’s the last week of school for my 4 year old and I’ve had zero to no involvement in his class over the past couple of months and I have mom guilt. My mother-in-law is even taking him to his last spray park field trip today because it’s still pretty hard for me to get around and tomorrow is his very last day. And there’s only one more week of school for my 6 year old and I haven’t even made it in to have lunch with him. (Where did this year go?!)

There’s the fact that it’s hard for me to talk about this stuff as I re-emerge and see everyone again. Teachers, my neighbors. They all know. They all ask. And not because of this blog where I’ve been candidly writing, but because word about these things just gets around. (“Did you hear — she has The Cansuh!”) Of course, I want everyone to ask and feel comfortable asking. But it’s surprisingly not easy for me to physically talk about it. Out loud. For me to hear my voice saying the words. But I can’t close myself away forever.

It’s different when I write it for some reason. It’s much easier. (Perhaps I should answer with “check out my blog! www.averagemomswearcapes.com!”)

Just kidding.

But I don’t want to cry in front of anyone and that’s my biggest fear. It’s hard for me not to. I have missed everyone so much! But seeing people makes me want to flee and run straight back to my safe place and drown myself in HGTV House Hunter marathons.

There’s the fact that even though I’m slowly emerging, I’m not quite there yet physically and I so badly want to be. Do you have any idea how badly I want to put on my sneakers and just RUN? To feel the wind on my face and the breath in my lungs and the sweat on my body and the music in my head. Running and biking and all of that has become synonymous to me for living over the past couple of years. Doing it makes me feel alive. Nothing makes me feel so alive as the exhilaration I feel post-run or post-bike. I miss that. I want that. You never miss running so much as when you can’t do it. Because I don’t particularly love running itself. But that’s no secret.

And then of course there’s simply the fact that I really just want to erase all of this.

I remember how hard it was for my mom when she had to recover from her Lupus diagnosis and the three months she spent in the hospital when we almost lost her to the blood clots (a story for another day). Re-emergence was very difficult for her. We pretended we were “Bob” in “What About Bob?” (Another movie reference.)

“Baby steps to the door… baby steps to the mailbox… baby steps to the bus…”

I suppose that’s the same for me. The blog isn’t all puppies and kittens right now and I hope you can bear with me till I get through this. And I will. It’s just taking a little longer than I thought. Thanks for the love in the comments after the “baby clothes” incident, I really don’t know how I’d have gotten through any of this without this blog and you. 

Ps. Please say a little prayer for my dad today — at this very moment that I’m writing, he’s getting two stents put in for a couple of blockages they found and even though this is all very routine, it’s my dad. And I worry. I hope we have all reached our medical issue quota for the year.

I’ll see you tomorrow, where I’ll be free and pocketbook-less.

Baby steps.

Hurrah!

Hurrah.

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