I’m not sure what I’m going to do this weekend. The doctor said to stay off my foot as much as possible, but something in my mind makes me think maybe he didn’t say that. Maybe he said reduce activity, ie: don’t work out or go for long walks. And then there’s the pain. The brain, my brain, is a tricky trickster these days. I know my foot hurts, quite a bit, and more when I’m on it more. That’s why I went to a doctor. And yet, there’s birthday parties, and Thanksgiving prep, and simple normal life walking around in the house stuff I don’t want to miss or would have to make a lot of changes to manage while minimizing walking.
This hurt foot situation has been going on for a while. Longer than I’d like to admit, depending on where you pinpoint the “start” of the problem. But the acute part, the part where I step down and say ouch and wince, has been just a couple of weeks. Long enough. Long enough to get pretty miserable.
What I wanted the doctor to say is maybe something like “Let me pull on this toe and fix everything.” But he didn’t say that. What he said was, “This will be a process.” I don’t like process. I like quick, decisive, miracles. Bam! You’re fixed.
I also don’t like processes where I don’t know what the outcome will be, which is what this one feels like. So great, stay off the foot for a few days, then get back on it, injure it again, stay off it again? Me no likey. I have a freaking kid for goodness’ sake! We have karate class on Monday!
I get it. On paper it’s obvious: Do what the doc says. Tee up some Netflix, get Mike to take Ax to his stuff, cancel my stuff, and take care of myself like it’s my job. I need a mental shift though to accept that sentence and do the self-care thing, the grounded thing, with gratitude and joy – or some feeling more pleasant than resentment, fear, and bitterness. These feelings will not help my foot heal, and they certainly do not help me.
“Universe, thank you for giving me access to good healthcare. Thank you for giving me a body that is healthy and healing. Please help me take care of it joyfully and intelligently. Please help me do what I know is right for me today. Thank you for my life.” I’m going to keep going.