I think that I am officially starting to lose it. Yesterday afternoon I was running some errands and there was a man at the shopping center digging through the trash trying to find aluminum cans. I tried to ignore this as I dodged into the liquor store to buy some beer (OMG I was really in need of a beer), but inside the store I started crying, which is sort of ridiculous considering this isn't the first time I've seen someone digging through the trash looking for aluminum cans. In fact, many people who live on my street specifically leave their aluminum cans in a separate bag for the dumpster divers who scavenge our alley every day, going through the recycling bins looking for aluminum cans to take to the recycling center. I would do the same, except I never buy anything in aluminum cans after reading The Story of Stuff, which includes a chapter on how much energy and how many resources it takes to produce an aluminum can. The author of that book suggests renaming aluminum cans platinum cans because they might as well be. But I digress.
I came out of the liquor store and the man was gone. Out of sight, out of mind. Or not so much. I promptly spotted him about 50 yards up, going through another trash can. I got into the car and started digging through the my wallet to try to get some cash to give him, which is admittedly kind of awkward, because it wasn't like he was asking for money. At the same time, you have to figure an old man going through trash cans could probably make good use out of some cash. I've only given money to people who weren't asking one other time - about 14 years ago, my husband and I were walking down the street in the bitter cold, and there was a couple sitting outside of a restaurant with a bunch of change spread out all over the bench, counting it. It was a sight I won't ever forget. I wanted to give them some money, but I felt too awkward, so I made my husband go back and give them $20. He said the woman actually started crying.
I had this in my mind as I looked for some money and tried to figure out how I was going to make my delivery. But by the time I figured it all out, the man was gone. I drove all around the shopping center and I couldn't find him. How fast could an old man dragging all of his stuff actually move?! Did I imagine this? By the time I realized that he really had disappeared, and was nowhere to be found, I was practically bawling, and semi-hysterical. WTF?
I. am. losing. it. On the one hand, I think my pain is really taking a toll on me. I am constantly in a bad mood, overly emotional, and generally just don't feel like myself. On the other hand, I feel bad that I am like this over a little bit of stinking hip pain, when there are so many other worse fates I could have met. So on top of the constant pain, I have constant guilt. It is the recovering Catholic in me.
OMGthishastostop!
Prior to my hysterics, I had gone to physical therapy, and I think I felt worse after it was over. I also realized at that point that the cortisone shot basically did nothing for me, and was feeling sort of depressed or at least super 'woe is me' as I drove back from PT and swung by the school to pick my daughter up. As I walked around the school yard trying to find her, the mother of one of my daughter's classmates commented that I was limping. Yeah? No shit? LOL. I mentioned that I had had hip surgery over the summer and apparently wasn't recovering. This woman is an occupational therapist, and she said, sympathetically, that she worked with people who have chronic pain every day, and she couldn't imagine what it was like. She said almost all of them have depression in addition to chronic pain because mentally it takes such a toll on you. I said that my whole hip ordeal was really giving me a lot more sympathy for people who have chronic pain, especially when I consider what my pain has done to me even though it's just in one part of my body and has only been an issue for about a year. I guess if anything good comes out of this, it is my increased level of sympathy/empathy.
In less emo news, I woke up this morning to a throbbing hip and had a revelation. Both my therapist and orthopedist commented on how tight all my muscles are, and my therapist has been working on stretching and massaging my psoas and IT band during PT. I also stretch constantly throughout the day, just like I did before the surgery, because it's what allows me to, like, walk. And I work on loosening my muscles with a rolling pin, a therapy ball, and a foam roller (which my orthopedist suggested trying at our last appointment). Considering I am very flexible naturally, there is no reason I should be this tight. However, I did realize that due to my blood clot (oh yeah, remember that?), I have been sitting with my leg propped up and sleeping with it elevated (I've finally learned how to sleep this way!), which basically re-shortens all those hip flexors that I work so hard keep stretched out. I mentioned this revelation to my husband, who reassured me that tight hip flexors were better than pulmonary embolism or even permanent repercussions from DVT. Ha.
My therapist also told me that I might want to consider using a crutch or a cane again. Ugh. He mentioned, 'I know you don't want to do this at school, but maybe around the house.' So he does know me a little by now. LOL. Although he didn't think I was damaging my labrum by walking around, it just might help reduce some of the pain and therefore inflammation and make me more comfortable. I repeat: ugh. I don't think I actually responded when he told me this, and he didn't say anything more. So yeah. No comment.
I realize that sometimes you have to go backwards to eventually go forwards, but Jesus Christ, how far backwards am I actually going to have to go? And when do I get to start going forward again?
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