I was able to take shower today. Thrilling and terrifying at the same time. I had to take the stairs, my first time since surgery. Ok - so I crawled. I scooted. I made it. We realized quickly that the funky shower protector thing, to keep my bandages dry, was not going to fit over my boot. My boot gives me confidence. I know that if I absolutely have to put my heel down, my non-toe will be protected. No boot means no net. We also have a bridge into the shower -- so a step up and over...onto a slick tile floor, with crutches, with no boot. I nearly bailed.
It is interesting to me, the wonky things about myself, that I am slowly letting go of...mostly of necessity. But, as I let go, I wonder why it was something that I was hanging on to. For example, I love my husband. He is awesome -- in more ways than one. He will tell me over and over that he loves, no matter how I look or feel. While I appreciate that, when I'm feeling crappy about my weight, or not wanting to put on anything more glamorous than a baggy, stained t-shirt (did I mention this is an opportunity area?) - I don't really believe him. I want to -- but seriously? I have a pretty good idea what my butt looks like -- and it isn't pretty. So...in my mind, by keeping things covered, taking a stance that "I'll never pee in front of you -- it'll kill the mystery" and walking backwards into the shower if he is in the bathroom...I'm thinking that he has no idea what my butt is looking like, therefore, of course he still loves me anyway. Who am I kidding? He was there when our girls were born...and I mean, RIGHT THERE. If there was any mystery left -- it got shot to the moon the day that W was born.
Fast forward to this surgery. Chris held my hand as they injected radiation into my toe, pre-surgery, as I was sobbing and my ass was hanging out of my surgical gown. He got me dressed in the hospital as I was loopy on drugs and doing everything not to let my foot hurt. He held my foot up as I went to the bathroom the first day after surgery, helping me through every second of the process. And today, he held me in the shower, washed my hair and got all of the weird sticky stuff off of my body that was left over from surgery. Through it all, he reminded me, not only with his words but with all of his actions, that he loves me -- no matter what I weigh, or what my hair looks like, or whether or not I've managed to put on make-up (and I haven't). He is a gift. I am blessed -- we both are.
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