January ’24: Recovery.

Hello – it has been a little while hasn’t it? Almost a year in fact. Ooops. But we have entered a new year, one that i have exceedingly high hopes for, so sit, grab a mug of your favourite hot beverage and let’s play catch up friend.

Before we talk about January, we’ll have to take a trip back to parts of last year. For me, 2023 was the year of ‘settling down’. Much of the residual depression from grieving life had begun to dissipate and I finally began to find enjoyment in the everyday mundanity of life; from watching sunlight streaming through my bedroom window on a Saturday morning, to feeling Fig’s soft warmth weight on my legs as we watch TV together. The life I had built began to glow and take form, and I fell into a gentle somewhat robotic cycle of life, until one fateful morning in which there were train strikes, and I was told i had to come into the office hell or high water. Four buses, three point five hours later and i made it to the office – five minutes past nine. The lack of inflexibility sparked something in me. The entirety of an Architects career was to be the ‘starving artist’. I thought of all the consultants i had worked with previously, noting that their fees were consistently higher, with an absolute line drawn under scope creep. For the Architects on the other hand, we would always be the ones in the office past 9pm, no paid overtime and working to salaries that have not risen with inflation even with three (sometimes more) degrees under our belts, so i made a decision for my future to upskill and change careers which i can categorically say was one of the scariest jumps i’ve taken (but one i am so happy i did!). I essentially changed teams and moved across the table to consultancy – if you can’t beat them join them right?

We’ll circle back to the career change another day and segue fairly unfashionably towards the end of the year, when i got a call asking me to finally come in for my open myomectomy procedure, to remove as many non-cancerous tumours they could from my uterus. I said yes and before i knew it, my mother and i were in Chase Farm – i sat cross legged on a bed trying not to shake, my mother sat upright in a plasticky chair beside me, eyes glued to the wall. Fear. I was taken to the theatre for my epidural and awoke eight hours later in blinding pain, having lost a lot more blood than they had planned for me to. So much blood that i ended up having to be transferred to another hospital in an ambulance for more specialist care. The next week on the ward or so was a blur of catheters, anti-blood clot injections, transfusions, and a lot of crying. The care i received was excellent, but there is something about losing the ability to care for yourself that is utterly frightening. I cried when they took my drains out and i saw the bloodied mass of flesh and blood below my stomach, i cried when the morphine blurred my vision, i cried when my mother gave me my first shower post – op, i cried when i couldn’t go home because i couldn’t poop five days on, i cried when a friend visited, and i cried when i saw myself in a mirror.

When i finally made it back to my own home, i cried tears of joy when i slid into my bed and felt Fig’s wet nose nudging my arm to be held. Years of excruciating pain, bleeding through pads within an hour, throwing up from pain, not being able to go out on the first and second days of my periods, constantly being asked if i’m pregnant, being unable to wear form fitting clothing and so much more finally (somewhat – we still have the endometriosis to go back and do battle with) solved. My days spent hobbled over walking around my flat as slowly as possible so as not to disrupt my recovery felt, and still feels worth it.

So how was January? I spent most of the month very much horizontal and very much asleep, with kind deliveries of food from my community, much appreciated home visits, and a whole lot of help. It felt strange and it was at times quite difficult for me to ask for help, but open and honest conversations with friends opened my eyes to the simplicity of just ‘asking’. If any of y’all are reading this – i love you and appreciate you so much. Towards the end of mid January, i felt well enough to ease back into working from home (Bills were calling my name frrrrr), and so far so good. Some days are easier than others but i think i’m getting stronger and stronger each day. One thing i didn’t think about pre-surgery was just how much you use your abdominal muscles for the smallest of movements – post op, when you’ve had layer of skin, fat and muscles sliced open from side to side… re-learning how to walk, sit and perhaps the most difficult – getting into bed takes some work!

I entered into January 2024 lying on a hospital bed with a bag of blood above my head slowly flowing into my veins, quietly praying to God that the new year brings a renewed sense of peace above all, and i’m ending January 2024 sitting up at my desk with a coffee in hand at half past six in the evening, looking down at my still numb and slightly swollen stomach, but vibrating with a joy in my heart that i swear could launch me airborne. I don’t take the surgery nor the recovery lightly at all. Many before me have been put under and haven’t woken up, so for the grace of continued precious life i have to thank God.

January was for recovery, February my new year begins. I will run and i will not be weary, i will walk and i will not faint. I will rise up on wings as eagles, i believe, i believe, i believe i will trust in You. (While I’m Waiting – Travis Greene & Chandler Moore).

Goodbye January, Hello February – we have some work to do.