I was all set for a night of tossing and turning, but surprisingly enough, I slept soundly last night after propping my foot up on a pillow. My ankle hurt quite alot, enough for even me to consider the ER, but the specter of BB1's recent marathon in that pestilential hellhole reinforced my natural inclination to allow my fearfully-and-wonderfully-made body the opportunity to heal itself. So I had gone to bed last night, barely entertaining the possibility that I might make a trip to the ER this morning, and I was ready to get ready when my Man got up dark and early to head to work. Imagine my everlasting amazement when I got out of bed and did not crash to the floor on my bad ankle!
It was still sore and painful, and I couldn't really walk, but, no swelling or bruising, and compared to crawling around last night, it was a miraculous recovery indeed. I was positively giddy that we had elected to stay home, saving ourselves probably $500 and getting a restful night in the bargain.
Today I am profoundly excited about being able to get around all by myself. I don't remember ever feeling pain like I felt yesterday, and I have never been so invalidated.
"Would you get me a drink?" "Would you climb up in the closet and dig out the Epsom salts?" "Would you reach my nightgown off the hook?" "Would you warm up that leftover soup for dinner?" "Would you lock the door, close the window, answer the phone, turn on the light, bring my book, fill in the blank?" It disturbs me mightily to be waited on at all, never mind so completely.
I am a good patient, if you consider my outward behavior. I demand nothing, and I ask, ever apologetically, only what I absolutely cannot manage on my own. I have certainly waited on endless multitudes in my day, so why does it bother me so much to be on the other end? I have never understood people who enjoy being the center of every attention, but I believe there's something here on a deeper level. True confession time: as much as I hate to say it, I think there is an issue of pride at work. In my case, anyway. There is something humbling about being at the mercy of someone else...something God is still having to try to teach me. Poor Guy.
So, am I ready to take the lesson...? I want to. I would hope so. My head gets it. But, alas, I know me. My spirit is basically rebellious and independent. Rebellion and independence...Good servants. Bad masters.
I still can't actually walk. There's a whole lotta limping and hobbling going on, but I am ever so thankful that today I can do whatever I want/need, even if it takes me a little bit longer. It is, as they say today, "all good." It really is!
The Time Of His Life
4 years ago