When I started crying while my OT works my shoulder, she stopped. “What’s your goal?”
I don’t know.
“You don’t have a goal?! You have to have a goal! Do you want to go around and for the rest of your life need help with things?? Help washing your hair? Help putting on a bra? How are you going to put on a bra if you don’t get better?”
I don’t know.
What are my goals?
To find some semblance of my normal.
I wish I could wear my contacts, since wearing my glasses isn’t an everyday thing for me.
I want to be able to work out again someday.
I want to be able to take a shower, not a bed sponge bath.
I want to be able to wear MY clothes, not men’s basketball clothes my mom bought in a hurry at Walmart because they suited moving on a slideboard, and putting things on over gigantic orthopedic boots & a wound vac.
I want to be able to do aNyTHinG other than: sit in bed, sit in a wheelchair.
I want to know who to believe about if & when I’ll ever stand or walk again.
I want to be able to choose my own day, instead of being in a hospital bed beholden to whatever day & time my OTs & PTs show up. You see, because we in home patients are bedridden, we don’t get any say on appointments; we’ll be here regardless!
I wish I could walk – or hell, even scoot – the 2′ sacross the room required to control my own ceiling fan,
I would like to not cry every day in front of my kids.
I would like to find a goddamn time machine & rewind to never go on that day’s bike ride, or choose a different route, or fast forward to my next “normal.”