Seems I have found the definition for Frustration, and am living it, hour by irritating hour.
Now, I do know my blessings, and count them everyday, but I think I’m entitled to feel what I feel, and what I feel is frustrated.
And very bloody sore.
5 days ago I fell victim to an awful spin bike accident. Stuff turned bad about 30 minutes in, during a pretty high geared hill climb/sprint. There was lots of crunching and cracking, (sadly not from the bike) and instant agony.
I valiantly walked, then crawled to the salvation of G2 and G3.
“Mummy has hurt herself. Very bad. Fan, I need the fan on, oh god I’m thirsty please get me some water. I’m gunna be sick. Oh man this really hurts. Mummy’s ok. Ohhhh no She’s not”
This was followed by a distress call to Aunty D, then G1, and lastly Dan, whos dressing down (combined with pain and exertion) caused by throat to close.
Yes my throat closed! I couldn’t breathe! What the hell body? This is not the deal we had!
Years ago eldest sister had a waterskiing accident. She wasn’t aware of the extent of the injury until she hopped onto the dock. The minute her injured ankle hit the ground, she passed out.
I love that story. What a considerate brain!
“Yup boys, looks like this is gunna hurt. Shut ‘er down”. Bam. Out like a light.
I’d always hoped that my brain would have the same kindness. Turns out I was wrong.
“Whoa fellas, this is getting pretty nasty. What say we suffocate her?”
Anywho, 5 days on, Dr visits, trip to Mackay for ultrasound and XRay, and I now have a 10 tonne moon boot, crutches I can’t use properly, diagnosis of a rupture in my achillies, torn ligaments and a 10 day ban on weight bearing, with a 3 week stint in the boot ,to boot. Hehe.
It’s actually not funny. I hate the boot.
No no. It’s fine, and it is nice having a support around my foot. But it’s heavy. And impedes my ability to dress myself. Can it be pants off Friday everyday?
Dan and the girls are doing wonderfully to help. In their own, special, way.
I am trying in vain to use my telekinesis to put the washing away and it’s just not happening.
If the boot were the only thing impeding my function, I’d be happy. But the pain is ranking very, very high on the “let’s suffocate her” scale. So I’m trying to minimize movement.
This is not fun.
Hopefully in a few days I’ll be winding down on the pain front, and will be able to get into some paintings. And washing. And putting away. And all the other things I’ve had to relinquish to my crew.
So much to do. So very much.
Woe is me. The burdon. The outcast. The useless figure on the lounge with no pants and a frown.
Sorrow be thy name. Frustration be thy nature.
The trip home with my new accessory.