I had my sixth surgery yesterday (8 April 2019). I am hoping it is the last. I am tired of being in pain. I am tired of seeing the scars. I am so emotionally and physically tired. The funny thing is that I was excited for these last surgeries because I knew it was another step closer to going back to normal, or what will be the new normal.
Yes, I am alive. Yes, I should be grateful. Some days when I look down at these scars, it’s a reminder of what I survived. Other times it’s a reminder of what should have never happened.
I was in so much pain as the nurse was trying to have me move to the edge of the bed. I started crying so hard because I was angry. I was so angry that I had to go through this. What should be so simple is not. Standing up hurts. Sitting down hurts. Driving hurts. This shit hurts. I know I will be ok. I know that one day soon I will no longer need the crutches or the cane. One day I will be able to do something that I took for granted… and that is to run. I used to despise running. Now I miss it. I was supposed to run the Army 10 miler last year. I was supposed to be training for the next one.
As I sit here writing this I just think of what could have been and what is now. I am in pain but I am also able to be here for my nephews and for my newest niece/nephew to come. I am able to be here for my own children. I am able to be here to see my family even when they look at me with those sad eyes because they notice my scars. It’s ok. My scars are my battle wounds that were given to me by God as a reminder that I have a second chance. So I am here. I will still cry. I am still pissed. I am still in pain. But I am loving all of you even more.
Six surgeries or not, I have survived all of them. It’s been a crazy ride, but I still have a story to tell.