I just had a major disappointment . . .
I was sure that I could drive my mini van up the road, just to pick up our usual Saturday lunch specials for Audrey and Linda from the Country Store on the corner. Certain Man had been at our church clean-up melee all morning, and was exhausted, plus he had sprained his ankle in the trench they were digging and could hardly walk.
“I’ll be okay,” I insisted to his drowsy eyes, where he had crashed on the La-Z-boy for a brief nap before working on the sermon he’s been mulling over all week. “I’m sure that I can do it. I made baked oatmeal this morning — also, changed the sheets on two beds. I should be just fine.”
“I don’t think you should,” he mumbled, “but I’m too sleepy to argue with you. . .” and he was pretty much asleep again.
I collected all my things — cell phone if I needed him, my purse, the money, and headed out to my trusty servant, the mini-van. I got in gingerly, and adjusted the seat, started the motor, tested the brake.
“Ouch! That really hurt!” I eased the car into reverse, testing the foot on the brake and finding that every single little pressure on it was excruciating. Now why would that be when I can walk on it, even go up and down steps with step over step without hardly any additional pain? It didn’t make sense to me, so I sat just outside the garage and readjusted how I put my foot on the brake, put the car in park, and pushed the gas pedal. That worked just fine. Back to the brake. “OUCH!!!”
I sat there and weighed the options. “Could I possibly make this? What if I was in an emergency? What if I managed to get there and back again, would I be able to do anything the rest of the day?” Humbled, I knew that to go ahead and go was an exercise in foolishness, but I wanted to go so badly.
I sat there for a while, thinking. And then turned off the ignition and slowly gathered my things and went back into the house. Certain Man came awake the instant he heard the door open. “What???” He was alarmed at my tears, and was instantly off his chair. “Hon, what’s wrong???” I just shook my head. “You can’t do it, can you?”
“No,” I sobbed. “I just can’t do it. Could you please go and get the order for me? I’m sorry. I really thought I could do it.”
“It’s okay, Hon. I’ll go and get it.” He got his slippers and wallet and went with his usual cheerful helpfulness. And I stirred around in the kitchen and cried and cried and cried. I was already weepy after reading the post that my friend, Albert Mast’s daughter, Joy had written about her daddy (see www.xanga.com/I_will_be_okay) but I have had a tough week with this old knee and I didn’t feel like being brave anymore. So I cried until I thought that it was almost time for Certain Man to be back home, and then I got myself together, made some sweet tea and got things around for when he got here with their food, and decided to try to be cheerful.
The truth is, I am a month post op tomorrow. Rehab is going well, and they didn’t expect me to be able to drive yet. I just wanted to prove them wrong. And I am really, really tired of being dependent on everyone for almost everything. I am learning just how proudful and independent a woman I am, I guess. Not a pretty picture.
And I can try again next week to drive that old mini-van. One of these weeks, Lord willing, I’ll be able to do it.
Until then, I guess for the most part, you’ll find me on my chair . . .