12 | March | 2014 | third story(ies)

In one week I’ll be having surgery on not one, but both feet at once. I’m always hesitant to talk a lot about medical issues in this space because it’s very public, and I’m not one to go around opening up my medical file for just anyone. So I will not go into great detail – just enough so that you know that I’m okay. And that I will be okay.

I have several “structural” issues (as my surgeon kindly calls them) with my feet. For the most part, I’m extremely grateful for the gene-gifts I’ve received in this life – however, my feet are not included on this list. I’ve always been okay with the way that my feet look, okay with the fact that I’m extremely limited in my footwear choices, and I’m only considering surgery as a last resort. I’m tired of the pain, and I enjoy my active lifestyle. (No, running did not cause any of these issues, but being more active certainly made me realize how important my foot health should be.) I put it off to get married, to renovate a house, to have children – but now I’ve really got no more excuses. As the day draws closer, I sort of want to find some excuses to get me out of it, but I won’t. There is one recommendation, one doctor, one surgery date, one recovery period and zero google searches on the subject.

I am nervous. Not so much about the surgery itself – except that I am nervous about that. I’ve never had surgery before, and the thought of it has always sort of worried me. When I was pregnant with both girls I was secretly terrified of an emergency C-section. The biggest procedure I’ve ever had done was the removal of my wisdom teeth, and I was completely awake for that (although I kind of regretted that choice – gross.) I am more nervous about the immobility, the loss of freedom, the heaviness of the burden I’m about to lay across my own shoulders, and my family’s shoulders, and perhaps even some friends’ shoulders too. We work each day (without ceasing) to balance our lives and the lives of our children and the needs and responsibilities of our work and schools and community(ies), and some days that balance seems precarious. We are fortunate that, for the most part, our cars always start, our cell phones are charged, we have access to money, flexibility and understanding at work, families that love and support us and rush in if needed. I have the luxury to be worried about a non-life-threatening surgery. I have the luxury to be worried most about not being able to drive for six (!) weeks or becoming stir crazy as spring (eventually) unfolds around me. I have the luxury to be able to rest and recover and heal.

So that is what I will do, and I will try and tell myself each day how lucky I am. For good health, a supportive family, and for rest. I am lucky that I enjoy being busy and productive and on the go. And I’m also lucky that I enjoy a good nap, a new novel, and afternoons playing board games on the bed – things that I don’t do often enough, until now. So I’m lucky.