Poor Dog

Both the Butcher and I slept in, so the dog didn’t get his walk. I’ve been sleeping like shit for a long time, but I’m finally sleeping better, so I guess I’m trying to catch up on it.

I was hoping my medical bills would all come in at once, but you’d be amazed at how they can drag out. I mean, I have a deductible. Certainly, at this point, I’ve met it. Can’t I just pay someone that whole lump sum and get on with my life?

I had a long email exchange with the Professor yesterday, because I miss the fuck out of her and rely on her to explain my life back to me.

But I admitted to her that I’m not doing fine. I’m not not doing fine. I don’t need sympathy or understanding (yet, though who knows?). I just am not doing fine. I feel fine, but it’s a fine with no foundation. I don’t feel like I’m standing on solid ground. And yet, I feel like not being fine is inconvenient. Like how can I not be fine? Everything turned out fine. I should be grateful or relieved. And I will be, but I’m just not there yet.

I’m also deeply suspicious that some people think that, if they give me lots of tasks and things to do, that they’re helping because they’re giving me a purpose or a reason to live or something. I don’t know. I know they mean well. I experience it as overwhelming and patronizing. And since I haven’t worked through how I feel about all this, it makes me feel like I’m being lead away from important, if unpleasant, work I need to do in order to make sense of all of this and assigned tasks that make their lives easier. “For my own good.”

I keep looking at the incision and waffling back and forth between whether it’s large or not. Sometimes, I look at it and I’m like “Oh, good, it’s not that big.” and then sometimes I put my finger next to it to measure it and I think, isn’t a slit along the side of your boob that stretches over half the length of your boob large?

I don’t yet know how I feel about things. I want time to just be alone with myself and figure it out.

I mean, at the least, I used to have a curve that fit into the natural resting shape my hand makes and now I have a long, flat stretch.

My landscape has shifted. I need to get used to the new view.

4 thoughts on “Poor Dog

  1. Everyone else gets over things a lot sooner that you will. It’s just the way it is. Now, a year later, I’m fretting over why I don’t remember waking up after surgery. Silly, but there it is. And you feel like everyone else is in control of your life. Yes, you ceded some control when you had to, but now you have to take it back and that’s not as easy as one would think.

    The bills keep coming. Don’t pay anything until they all come and your insurance has settled. Just call them and say that you’re waiting for everything to settle out before paying. I didn’t do that and ended up paying the wrong party the deductible, so I had to wait until they figured that out and sent it back before I could send it to the right party. And there is always some bill that comes 6 months later. . . . I don’t know why.

  2. Yeah, my insurance company is trying to nag me into paying everyone through them–even before everyone else gets around to billing me, which I find really sketchy. Like you handle your money, I’ll handle mine, thank you very much.

  3. Breasts are located close to our hearts, a really vulnerable part of our bodies, and even if we have tortured relationships with them, I think an injury to one would upset me too. We are more used to our hands and legs and arms taking damage, but breasts are part of our underbelly. You look down and see them every day. Maybe that’s why it’s more unnerving. Take what time you need. Be slow and grieving and thoughtful.

  4. “Unnerving.” That’s exactly the right word. And it reminds me of something else I find unsettling about this. Since everything is fine, and I have no cause to worry about a recurrence of anything, all the discomfort and pain I have don’t signal anything. It’s just the feeling of cut things mending and other things shifting to fill up space. It’s like, if you were sitting in your house, which you knew was empty, and you heard footsteps. You KNOW no one is there and you know there’s a rational explanation for it and you know that troubling people about it is just going to get them telling you things you already know. But it doesn’t make the experience any less weird.

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