As I continue through the healing process, unable to do much more than dent the sofa cushion, I've had time to ponder many things. Today, it was the ironies of my current situation.
A few months ago I packed up all my "thin clothes" along with my expectations that I would ever lose any weight. Since my accident I've lost 10 pounds. But now I can't climb to the upper closet shelves to retrieve the boxes of previously-outgrown clothing (yeah, I was still clinging to the hope that someday I'd wear them again). Besides, except for medical appointments I haven't been outside the house in six weeks. Most days I don't even bother getting dressed.
Before I broke my ankle, I couldn't find enough hours in the day to work on my scrapbooks or try any of the other creative things I wanted to do. Now I can't clean house (let's pretend I ever did), cook dinner, do laundry, or any of the other chores that took up all my time. Plenty of free time now, but no way can I navigate my craftroom on crutches or even sit upright long enough to create anything other than a swollen leg.
The weather's warm and the pool is open. Most summer days I won't allow myself the luxury of lounging poolside when there are so many other things that need to be done. Now that I can't do anything but lounge around, the doctor has banned me from the pool and ordered me to wear my fancy knee-high (sun-blocking) boot all day.
My husband has expressed his willingness to serve as my personal slave, to bring me anything I need or to do anything I ask. But now he's so busy taking care of the mundane tasks I usually do (not to mention his real job) that he has very little time to rest at the end of the day. I might be selfish, but even I can't ask him to give that up just so I can feel like Queen for a Day.
And as mentioned above, I've inexplicably lost 10 pounds. Prior to my tumble down the stairs, I worked out like a mad woman several times a week in a desperate attempt to lose the weight that was standing between me and total happiness. It was somewhat of an obsession. It took up what little time was left after all the previously mentioned chores. And as much as I was clinging to the hope of being thin again, those fat cells were clinging to my body with just as much determination. Then within a few weeks of my injury I realized I was losing weight. Go figure. I'm unable to do anything more strenuous than hobble to the bathroom a few times a day, and I've accomplished what months and months of exercise couldn't do.
Okay, it's not all bad.