Ten more days.
Ten days from now I'll be unconscious while a surgeon snips my spinal cord freeing it. While I look forward to it's emancipation, I'm afraid. And in pain. And thoroughly overwhelmed.
There is so much that I cannot do right now. The normal part of me wants to get everyone ready, put meals in the freezer, plan lessons, spend some outrageously romantic evenings with my husband. Fill everyone up with love so come what may, they'll get through while I lie perfectly still, heal, learn to function again.
But instead I can't do anything. I wake up with a handful of medicine under my chin and my husband's gentle prodding to take it, it'll make me feel better. I hurt so bad that simple things like walking across the room require courage. I don't sleep yet I fall asleep all the time.
All the things I like about myself are stripped away right now.
Normally I'm useful, competent, innovative, creative, fun.
Now people wince when they see me walk. The kids eyes fill with tears when one look shows them that I was crying the whole time they were outside.
I can't ready, prepare and bolster. I can sit and think fuzzy thoughts and count down the days on the calendar.