Everyday is groundhog day.
Wake up. Pain. Muffling of radio sounds. Pain. Blackness outside. Pain.
I'm fairly accustomed to the routine at this stage. I need to sit up but I know I will become incredibly uncomfortable. Before doing so, I run a mental body check from my feet to my head. All is normal - clicking ankles, knackered knees, stiff back. Usual wear and tear. Except my collarbone still hasn't repaired itself. I'm afraid to attempt to move my left shoulder or arm as doing so will send shots of pain through my body. This takes some getting used to.
I'm grumpy, tired, cantankerous and blue. I am being mentally beaten up and I have lost the courage to rise to my feet. The physical side of injury is tolerable. You can learn to live with physical pain, adapt to the imperfection and learn to respect it. Mental pain is different. It requires discipline, determination and patience.
Every morning I contemplate lying here and just doing nothing. Just staying as I am. I'm not gong to be meeting anybody in the next ten hours. I have ten hours to kill. What one could achieve in ten hours? What do people do in the final ten hours of their lives? What harm will staying in bed until somebody else arrives home in approximately ten hours do to me?
It takes me a few minutes to convince myself to sit up. It's torture having to swing and drag my body into an upright position. I am immediately attacked by a stinging sensation in the left side of my neck, shoulder, chest and upper arm. I think I have strained my neck over the past few days due to the weight of my left arm hanging from it in my support sling.
I have no energy, feel pathetic and my motivation to get better is low. I also need a haircut and a shave. I am useless.
Showering is challenging. My left arm is basically lifeless and the warm water drizzling down from the shower-head is soothing and offers temporary relief. A shower now lasts me approximately twenty minutes.
The reality of my injury once again whacks me when I have to leave the shower cubicle. Apart from my legs, stomach, chest and face, I can't dry myself properly with a towel. I find this to be both humiliating and embarrassing. I require assistance from one of my parents in drying myself.
The next challenge is dressing myself. I am confined to wearing nothing but tracksuits as I can't button and unbutton shirts and trousers. Connecting zips are difficult to master using one hand. I have worn the same navy tracksuit bottoms, white sports runners and navy hoody since Sunday. What's the point in changing into anything different? These items are loose on my body and easier to pull on and off than my usual fitted attire. They offer the most elasticity and comfort when being pulled over and onto my left shoulder. I can hook on my underwear and tracksuit bottoms. That's it. It's too much of a struggle with sharp pain to dress myself independently.
I can't put on a t-shirt, I can't get on my stockings, I can't tie my laces, I can't zip my jacket. I am a baby again. I hate my over sized t-shirts that make me feel fat, ugly and unhealthy.
The one thing I can do is make my porridge one handed. That's some bit of independence. However, my mother decided today to try and make it for me. Which is kind and thoughtful of her but made me angry inside. I know that my parents are hurting too seeing me as miserable as I am. I shouldn't be so grouchy but I'm fed up of being stuck in this body that I'm not accustomed to operating.
Once I am dressed, my mother leaves for work.....and that's it. This is when the real battle begins. I desire being given a chance at freedom, to return to the life I understood but underappreciated. Now I brood alone in my boredom of repetitiveness. Everyday I am left alone to ponder and shape my day in the best way I can. I could do infinite things. I have a plentiful supply of unread books that I could tackle and engage my imagination. I could binge on television, sandwiches and social media. I could write or complete some jigsaws. The possibilities of creativity are endless. But I'm lonely and trapped. Everybody else is working. I want to go to work. I can't be who I want to be in the state I am. I can't exercise. I can't drive.
It's dark, wet and uninviting outside. I sit at the kitchen table for a few minutes staring into the abyss of my mind. It's not yet nine o'clock and I decide that the best course of action is to return to bed.
What else is there to do? At least I'm not broken in my dreams.
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