Let's establish some vocabulary before I move on. "Out of it" is how I'd describe what it was like coming out of surgery. I was exhausted, disoriented, and in pain. But notice that I don't describe what it was like by saying it was painful, and that's mostly because that wasn't the overriding feeling. A week and a half later, I felt healed "enough" to drive, to walk without support, to get out of the house by myself. I felt more discomfort than pain, and I looked forward to completely healing and getting back to normal. Healed "enough" seemed pretty damned good after sleeping upright on the couch for days and worrying if pooping was going to cause some kind of internal damage.
But enough is not enough when you're hormonal, and life gets messier instead of normal-er. Things that don't usually bother you, you obsess over. Being anxious leads to worrying, which then leads to obsession. And then you can't change everything-- sometimes you can't change anything-- which may lead to depression. Or the other way around. I don't know, I'm not a doctor of any kind, but these are things I've heard from doctors. These feelings contributed to my deepening sense of isolation. After all, I reasoned, why would anyone want to hang out with ME if I felt like this all the time? Even today that seems like sound thinking. Nothing irrational about it. It just isn't necessarily TRUE. You can feel like shit and people still want to be around and help you through it, but when you're anxious and sad, it's hard to change your thinking to a positive mindset.
This Friday will make six weeks post-op, and my doctor has assured me that I can return to all normal activities, like swimming. Yay! And guess what? About last week Friday (five weeks post-op), I started to feel-- like, emotionally-- better. I started to feel less obsessive and more in control. Maybe going to see the therapist on Thursday helped (and she really did. I went home and hours later had an epiphany that helped me understand a particular problem I was having), yet it kinda seems bigger than that. The therapist and my PCP both assured me that when my hormones evened out, my emotions would, too, and that's what this feels like. More like me. I couldn't turn the switch off before, and now I can. Usually. Nine times out of ten, which actually sounds like a normal human being, anyway.
So this is to say that the hormonal healing appears to have led to an emotional healing, and that this should have been included in the pre-surgery heads up. In fact, when I'd told the surgeon at my last follow up appointment two weeks ago that I'd been feeling really emotional, he totally ignored me. He didn't even address it. I'd like to think that even if he'd said to me that this was part of the 6-8 week recovery, it would have made a difference because it would have given it a timeline. It would have reassured me that it was normal and it was going to end. If medical professionals, like the surgeons and ob/gyns anticipate this hormonal imbalance in partial hysterectomies, why not plan for it? Why not mention psychological care as part of the surgical follow-up recovery process? Especially since, you know, there'd been a cancer diagnosis, too. Seeing a therapist earlier than five weeks out (especially since I'd starting feeling shitty at two weeks out) might have helped stave off the anxiety and sadness while giving me tools to fight those feelings as they arose. I knew that post-surgery, I'd need to walk and move around in order to heal faster. I didn't know that I should be doing the same with my internal self-care.
I expect that swimming in the ocean will further add peace to my life. It's been a very long time since I could go to the beach without the stress of bleeding, which means it's been a very long time since I actually went swimming. I fantasize about the sensation of being enfolded by the ocean, feeling its pull and push against my body and its caress over every inch of my skin.
Anyway. I'm getting carried away.
Returning to normal activities will help, I'm sure, as well as continuing the new habits I've adopted per doctor's orders. Time, though fairly reliable, is a hard friend to trust. Of all the things my doctors have told me, of all the articles and blogs I've read, time was rarely if ever mentioned. And that might be because at face value, it doesn't seem like useful advice. That time will heal all wounds sounds trite and suspicious. That my hormones will eventually even out also is not as helpful as giving me a period of time because yes, but WHEN will they even out? When? That is important information when you're feeling sad and anxious and isolated all the time. And I get that you can't provide me with an accurate timeline. Duh. I get that. But you can't see the other side when you're in the midst of it, yo.
I'm not saying that I think I'm at the end of this emotional healing even though I feel a lot closer to normal than I have in weeks. It's like a bruise you poke at each day-- is it still there? Does it still hurt? Yeah, that's me. All I'm saying is that from where I stand today, expecting that I'd need time to heal emotionally would have done me a world of good if I'd know that from the beginning. Where I stand today, even if I have a ways to go toward getting over all this shit, I have the benefit of hindsight, and that going forward, maybe I can be more patient with myself.
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