Learning to Live with My Glass Half-empty AND Half-full
This week I am nine months post-op.
Nine months post blood-clot-that-changed-my-life.
Nine months.
I used to be a my glass is half-full kind of person. Seeing the bright side. Making do. Carrying on. Chin-up. Smile in place.
After my surgery, I didn’t want to look at life like my glass was half-empty. That felt wrong. It felt like a betrayal of who I’d always been. But there were also days where it felt sadly true.
As the months went by, what I learned is a fuller truth.
The fact that my glass is both half-full AND half-empty.
Here’s an example.
Two weeks ago, my hubby and I traveled to Bismarck.
196 miles one way!
It’s the longest trip I’ve taken in nine months. I started out the journey by pulling up Spotify and playing Johnny Cash singing, On the Road Again. Belting out the song at the top of my lungs. It felt so free to be on the road. To be headed out.
After a five-minute singalong, I turned the music off and settled into the drive. It went pretty well. A stop in Jamestown for gas and a walk around a park. I felt a bit like a sailor stepping off a ship. The ground swaying beneath me while I walked. Then back in the car and a rest stop twenty minutes outside of Bismarck for late lunch. All was well. Or at least, it was “okay.”
We stayed two nights and three days.
We hiked along the Heart River!
Enjoyed the fall color, ate take out, and visited with family. So much fun to be out of Fargo. To be somewhere – anywhere – away. We topped it all off with a stop at the D.Q. on our way out of town! Sunshine and ice cream. Huzzah!
On the trip back, about halfway home, I got nauseated. I had to shut my eyes. There was just too much motion, too much stimulation, too much noise, too much commotion. Too much.
But, we Did It! 400 miles round trip!
I was ecstatic.
What a grand weekend. My glass was more than half-full. It was full!!
When I crawled into bed, exhausted, weary, over stimulated, I was still smiling from the trip.
BUT.
That trip was two weeks ago.
I am still suffering from it. Discombobulated. Dizzy. Can’t walk a straight line again. Can barely walk on my own. I’m nauseated and just plain worn out. These past two weeks I’ve been sleeping a lot, crying a lot, resting, and just lying on the couch bored, angry and sad. And maybe a little scared.
I KNOW there are setbacks. I know there are ups and downs with traumatic brain injury. I’ve experienced it often.
But two weeks?
How long will it take to recover?
Will I recover?
What’s going on?
I feel like all the work I’ve been doing, all the progress I’ve made has been setback four months.
My cup is less than half-empty. It is empty.
Over and over people with traumatic brain injury
talk about the ups and downs of recovery.
The rainbow and the rain.
I’m not a stranger to the experience or the knowledge. But this seems long. And hard.
On days like today I try to remember.
My cup is not half-full or half-empty. It is both.
This isn’t some metaphysical equation or question. It is a fact.
I am both filled with wonder that I made it to Bismarck and had a great weekend, and desperately sad about how hard and limited my life has become.
Being able to say that my life is both full and empty helps.
I am both.
Somedays I’m more optimistic. Some days less. Somedays I carry on with gusto. Somedays I limp through the hours. I’m learning to accept. To be patient. To breath. To set my eyes slightly ahead.
Today is hard. Tomorrow might be better. I hope so. Bismarck was SO MUCH FUN.
I’m thirsty for more.
Half-full or half-empty, I want to keep on drinking the cup of life as deeply as I can.
Is your cup full? Rejoice!
Is your cup empty? Be patient. Trust. Wait.
Is your cup both empty and full?
Welcome to the human race!
To all of you who are waiting and wishing, healing and hoping, may your days be filled fuller and fuller; may your cup overflow!
Love always,
Jill