Tuesday, July 12, 2011


Even though I'd written in my last post that I was just about done here, I'm taking it back.

This story doesn't ever really end, it shifts and changes as I continue to heal, as life gets back to a semblance of what it was, as my body and my mind ease back into their respective grooves.

5 weeks and one day out I'm amazed at how fine I feel. How back into myself I am. How the previous six months seems to have quickly faded away. Aside from intense fatigue periods every day and the sensation that my insides aren't back to normal yet whenever I pick up something to heavy or try and twist, especially to the left, it's almost as if the surgery didn't happen.

In every yoga class I take, something gets added back to my can-do list. I've done headstands in the middle of the room. Yesterday I did side plank holding onto my big toe, my leg extended up to the ceiling. That's not easy any day. And I was shakier than usual. But, it's coming back.

I've got 4 creative projects to work on this summer. One is my first film collaboration. Just talking about any of them is a huge leap for me. During the kidney journey, my creativity wasn't just back-burnered, it went missing and I was terrified I'd never have those flashes again. The drive isn't back yet, but I'm not beating myself up over it.

What I am feeling badly about is my body. It's hard to hold onto the fact that it's in remarkable shape, that it gave up an organ and is still chugging along, that it's healing so beautifully, when I feel this fat.

Yup. Fat.

The weeks of post-surgery carbo loading, the middle of the night mac and cheese, the early morning bagel runs and left over pasta-fests caught up with me. Add to that that I was far less active than usual, that I was sleeping far more, that exercise is only starting to find its way back and I'm feeling swollen and bloated and huge.

For those of you of a certain age, I'm channeling Mrs. Roper at the moment. Give me a caftan and I'd be set.

I'm not sure how much of this is real and how much is the destructive part of me beating myself up for not being as perfect as I can possibly be at any given moment.

The good news is I'm not taking it that seriously. I'm not chained to a stair master or living on lettuce. I'm wearing clothes that are comfortable and heading to bed when I feel exhaustion set in. I suppose I could say I'm more at ease being me. The me I am, not the me I think I'm supposed to be.

Although I don't know that I'll ever come to terms with frizzy summer hair.

PS . . .

I've not done this before, but after posting this post, turns out there's more to add:

It's not just feeling fat. It's feeling old. Not that I "feel" old, but having my body compromised at the moment is giving me more time to look, in depth, at what's drooping and shifting. The wrinkles in my elbows. The thighs that Iz made sure I know should not been seen on the street. The sundresses that used to look cute that now make me look like I'm trying to hide something. The puckered skin around my scars that make me wonder if I'll be able to be seen in a bikini again.

I was feeling good before surgery. Powerful. In shape. Capable. Healthy and strong. I was comfortable in my skin and ok with not being super skinny and the aging changes. But from here, not so much. Maybe when I'm fully back in my flow, it'll be easier. At the moment though, it's hard.

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