Humbled by Pain

I'm a controller.  A planner.  A predictor.  If I have a cold, I know when I'll be back in business.  This is different.  I have spent every day saying, "I'll be back teaching by the end of the week, of course." or "I should be better tomorrow -- I think the pain is peaking today."  Not the case.  Now it's, "I'll teach on Monday, no matter how much it hurts."  I'm bored.  I'm not working.  The pain hopefully plateaued -- today was the first day that didn't hurt worse than the day before.

I feel guilt.  I feel like it's not bad enough.  I feel like my employers and advisors and mentor teachers don't know me well enough to understand that, if it didn't hurt like hell, I'd be there.  It's hard to balance the line of taking care of myself and getting things done.  But, my GOD, it hurts.  Damaged, inflamed cartilage.  Doesn't sound THAT bad.  Nothing is broken.  I wake up and I want to cry.  It spreads up the sides of my ribcage and wraps around to my back.  I lose sleep because I need to roll over and it hurts too much to roll over.  The first thing I do when I wake up is take Ibuprofen.

I want to have fun and be social and go dancing and teach kids and hold babies.  I can't right now.  I feel like an old, arthritic lady who just got hit by a bus.  Going to Target made me want to cry, just from walking around.  I know it's only been 9 days, but I'm getting so frustrated and impatient.

And I shouldn't.  I'm alive.  Nothing is broken.  This pain will leave, even though I don't know when.  My life is so exciting right now.  But that's part of the problem.  I want to enjoy it.  I want to enjoy the excitement.  The pain makes me emotional -- gives me guilt -- makes me apologize too much.  Makes me feel like a pussy.

Mostly, I want to sleep all the time.  Sleep through it.  I hope I heal soon.  I'm glad I'm alive, and that everything is functioning.