My mother had a major health crisis this fall that she (and I) am still recovering from.
Then I fell and broke my kneecap at the end of December. Pain, nightmare, surgery, locked in a leg cage for three solid months, and recently liberated, that's what it looks like now.
What's been interesting for me to observe is how little I've wanted to write down any of this bad terrible stuff as it happens. I used to be an obsessive journaler, especially about the bad things. I stopped when I realized how possibly unhealthy it was to carefully document every bad feeling I ever had, so none of my angst could possibly scab over and heal. With all the terrible things happening, I never felt drawn to document or share most of it at all. I just want this past several months of my life to get swept away, to affect the rest of my life as little as possible.
Unless something really exciting happens in the next two months of physical therapy, this should be the last time I talk about this.
