It’s so easy to be grateful on the first day, when the doctor says “it’s not your hip, the fractures are not displaced and you don’t need surgery.” Wow, gratitude just oozes out of me. I am introduced to the wonders of a walker, I can get around my apt., a piece of cake. But after a few days of painful movements, every trip across the room needing planning as if you’re going a trip or you’re a mother taking a baby for a ride where you pack every conceivable item you might need along the way; you get a little cranky. That’s when you have to recite the mantra: I’m grateful that it isn’t my hip, that the fractures aren’t displaced, that I don’t need surgery. My cats have witnessed my lack of patience (sometimes it’s a good thing to be living alone where no one else hears your blow-ups). So many people deal with so much worse than what I’m dealing with. Only 7 more weeks to go (I’ve lived through the first week intact). Of course, the fact that I was stupid in trying to do something in workout that I knew I couldn’t do properly or that my trainer encouraged me to push myself- just makes me mad. So mad is okay, but ungrateful is not. I can finish the books I’m supposed to review, I can think about the writing that never seems to get done, I can work on my inner self, which seems to need a lot of work and come out a better person, right?
I’m grateful that it isn’t my hip, that the fractures aren’t displaced, that I do not need surgery. Okay, once again with spirit.