Finding my balance

Life after surgery, so far.

Even before this year happened, I already felt like I have lived multiple lifetimes inside this one. However, 2022 is repeatedly proving to be one heck of a year. I used to pick a word at the start of the year as a sort of theme or goal. I don’t remember if I ever picked one for this year, but balance seems to be a good fit.

Losing my sense of normalcy

This year has been all about finding balance in both the literal and figurative sense. Literally, it had meant standing on one foot, counting up from 1 to 60, and trying not to fall over. The seemingly simple act of balancing on one foot became a milestone when I suddenly lost most of the strength on my right leg after the surgery. I went from joining hikes one day, to being unable to raise my leg unassisted in the next.

Was I terrified that this was going to be my new reality? Did I think that it was the price I had to pay to finally be liberated from a tumor that had lived in my body for who knows how long? Absolutely.

In the months following the surgery, everything and everyone else seemed to take a proverbial backseat while Recovery drove and Healing rode shotgun. I had to re-learn how to sit up on the bed and stand on my own. I had to figure out how to use a walker and eventually graduated to using a cane. I went to physical therapy twice a week for around three months. I will forever be grateful to the kind teachers and student therapists who taught me exercises that allowed me to slowly regain my sense of self and independence.

On the mental health front, I resumed my weekly sessions with our counselor as soon as I could wobble up and down a flight of stairs. Whenever I expressed frustration and embarrassment over needing help, she gently reminded me that I had just undergone a massive surgery. There was, and still is, a constant battle between the need for independence and the desire to receive love and care.

The other day, I chose to take the stairs instead of the escalators and I was overcome with gratitude. Taking the stairs by myself seemed impossible just months ago. There are many days when J needs to remind me that I had surgery earlier this year. I tend to forget and my stubborn self insists on carrying heavy stuff or acting like nothing has changed in my body. I suspect that I have this unconscious need to prove to myself that the surgery didn’t take anything away from me.

All roads lead to surgery

I’ve already written extensively about rediscovering the tumor, looking for doctors, trying to find answers, and eventually receiving the diagnosis, so we can skip those bits. Instead, please humor me when I state the obvious: I really did not want to have to undergo another surgery—especially one that was meant to remove a body part. I don’t know why, but the idea of having something else removed apart from the tumor felt like some sort of defeat. Like I didn’t try hard enough to save my self? In hindsight, I don’t even know if that statement makes sense.

For a while there, I really, truly believed that I could heal my self. I believed (and still do) that our brains are powerful enough to change our realities and I thought that maybe if I willed my body to heal itself, I would magically avoid having to go under the knife. Call it prayer, manifestation, or what-have-you.

I’m still figuring out my spirituality, but one thing that has remained constant is my belief in a greater power. I never really thought that I could do it on my own. I just didn’t want to believe that science was the only answer or that I was completely powerless in the matter.

But you know what? In the end, I believe that what truly saved me was a balance between the wonders of science and the magic of healing energy. The surgery that I was trying so hard to avoid was only a means to an end. My rock star of a neurosurgeon was just one of the many healers in my life who came together for me. Yes, science is awesome, but so are prayers, reiki, and neuroplasticity.

Life lately: a constant balancing act

I wouldn’t be surprised if the rest of the year just whizzes by before I’ve had time to fully process things. As it is, there are barely enough hours to do everything that I would like to do in an ideal world.

I picked up the brush again recently and have so far created a grand total of one painting. I started another piece and it has been sitting on my desk for over a week now. I don’t know when I’ll feel like revisiting it, but I’m trying not to be too hard on my self when it comes to making art.

Work wise, there are deadlines I need to meet before we leave for a trip, so things have been pretty busy lately. Still, I make time for other equally important things: quality time with J, the call to write (hence this newsletter), and the never-ending list of chores that come with adulting. Life lately has been all about finding a balance between the important and the mundane.

After the whirlwind of a year that we’ve had so far, I’m not really complaining. I’m just grateful that I get to wash dishes again while standing on my own two feet. I can even sneak in a little dance when I want to.