a scar means the hurt is over

Almost. I almost have the scar I'll have for the rest of my life and the hurt (I'm assuming) is almost over.

Today is my first day back to work since August 13th and I must say, I'm not sure if it's the mere fact that I'm out of my apartment for more than the length of a good walk or the fact that I committed myself to coming in this morning with a great attitude, but things are going swimmingly.

I'm healing nicely from having Molly the Massive Tumor removed from my thigh (which was later confirmed as benign...huzzah, bitches!), despite the fact that it still hurts a bit to walk. It's not a constant, "oh, the pain! the pain!" kind of discomfort but more what I've always thought pulling a muscle might feel like. Like things in my leg are just uber tight. I've become somewhat accustomed to the numbness I still have, which will make for a pleasant surprise if it does go away, as my surgeon expects it will. Thanks to nerves and their tricky little nervy attributes, there's a possibility I'll never regain feeling in that part of my leg but it was a complaint my surgeon hadn't expected to hear, which leads him to believe the feeling will eventually come back.

Overall, I'm pretty content with how things went and super psyched that it's over. I wasn't at all looking forward to being knocked out during the surgery so the spinal anesthesia was a...pleasant-ish surprise. Although, I've gotta say that being 100% conscious and 100% unable to move anything below the waist is one of the scariest feelings I've ever had the misfortune of experiencing. I got out of surgery at about 9:30 a.m., dozed for a couple hours, and then tried to move my legs / feet for a good three hours before I actually managed to see my little toes wiggle, which is when I finally got to see my mother (all decked out in her awesome blue biohazard-lookin' scrubs suit). Once I was able to stand up, walk on my own, and pee, I was outta there.

I've had a tough time figuring out exactly how I feel about the two weeks that followed because on one hand, it was absolutely awesome to be able to spend so much time with my mother, just the two of us. On the other hand, I was reminded just how unlikely it is I'll ever become a Facebook fan of 'vulnerability.' I've never been the girl who lays her cards all out on the table and is free with asking for help. I hate that my mother had to spend the money and the time and her energy to come out here and basically sit around my apartment with me for two weeks but I also know that's the only place she would have been. Since moving to Chicago eight year ago, I've wondered several (okay, a friggin' ton of) times when the guilt will ever go away. The guilt for leaving my brother to be the one who lives close to our parents and could take care of them, if need be. The guilt for leaving my parents to worry about how I'm doing states away from them. The guilt for having to miss out on so much family time they get to have with each other. The guilt for the extra money it costs when we simply want to see each other. But the strange thing is that I don't think I feel that guilt because I don't believe I'm entitled to my own life. I know I am and I know my family realizes that as well. I know my parents want me to be healthy and happy, wherever that may be. And when they tell me, "don't leave Chicago, Janelle," it's not only because they want a place to stay when they visit their new favourite city but because they know I wouldn't be quite as happy anywhere else. So, I'm sometimes left wondering, "why the fuck do I feel guilty?" I hate that my mother had to cook me dinner and do my dishes and pick something up if I dropped it, and friggin' shower her 32-year-old daughter. But I know I'm entitled to the best care as the next person and I know my mother would have done anything in her power to give me that. I guess I've grown so used to being independent and taking care of myself that it's just weird when someone else has to do it. So, I'll simply take that for what it is. One of a bazillion and one feelings I'll have over the course of my lifetime. Luckily, I have the kind of mother (and family) who will always help me, whenever necessary. In whatever capacity necessary. I'm beyond thankful for the fact that even if it's tough for me to have to ask for that help sometimes, I will never doubt what their answer will be when I do.

And so ends my 31st year of L-I-V-I-N'. I'm 32, a little bit happier and a little bit healthier than I was a year ago. Despite the rough spot at the end of it, here's hoping my next year is equally as awesome as this one was. Or awesomer. I'll take awesomer, too.

(I realized with this post that I often like to steal bits of quotes and use them as my title. So, in keeping with that klepto theme, I've stolen the idea for crediting those quotes from one of the awesome blogs I read.

The title of this post is from a random quote I found online from Harry Crews:

There is something beautiful about all scars of whatever nature. A scar means the hurt is over, the wound is closed and healed, done with.