Betrayed.
Just when I thought things were finally looking up, my body decided to throw me another curveball.
My incision wound was healing beautifully. The scar was barely noticeable, and I was feeling pretty good about how things were going.
Then, sometime in the third week post-operation, I noticed little white dots appearing around the incision. They started getting bigger, filling with white and creamy-looking stuff. Then came the itchiness, followed by a stabbing pain that made me realise something wasn’t right.
Apparently, my body had other plans.
And I honestly felt betrayed.
I had only just started picking myself up again. Getting active, meeting friends, catching up on work, slowly finding my way back to the life I had put on hold. I was finally feeling like myself again, and I was so ready to get moving.
Then, just like that, I hit another speed bump.
Back to recovering at home. Again.
The culprit? Apparently, my body wasn’t taking too kindly to the sutures. Around the third week is when absorbable sutures may start breaking down, and mine seemed to have triggered a rather dramatic reaction. My body decided that the very thing meant to help me heal was something it wanted to fight.
A full-blown war against the sutures, if you ask me.
The incision became infected, my whole body started aching, and all I wanted to do was sleep. I had absolutely no energy to do anything else.
A few GP visits and a visit to my surgeon later (and almost RM600 later which I forgot to do pay & claim for), I was on a course of antibiotics. There was also the progression from Fucidin to Supirocin to Beavate, plus what felt like a never-ending supply of Opsite dressings.
At this point, my wound care routine deserves its own management team.
But jokes aside, it has been exhausting.
Physically and emotionally, too.
Because when you’ve spent weeks trying to get back on your feet, having to slow down all over again feels incredibly unfair. It isn’t just about the wound. It’s about the plans you had, the things you were looking forward to, the little bits of normal life you were finally beginning to enjoy.
It’s the frustration of feeling like you’re starting all over again when you thought you were already halfway there.
And I think that’s what hurt the most.
I was ready to live again, and suddenly, my body was asking me to stop.
Again.
But perhaps this is another lesson I need to learn, even if I’m not particularly thrilled about the way it’s being delivered.
Healing is not a straight line. And resting is not the same as going backwards.
Sometimes, healing means getting out there, moving your body and reconnecting with people. Sometimes, it means cancelling plans, staying home and allowing yourself to do absolutely nothing.
Both are part of the process.
So, even though I felt betrayed at first, I’m trying to give my body a little more grace.
We’ve been through quite a bit together, haven’t we?
Maybe it isn’t trying to sabotage me. Maybe it’s just dealing with something I cannot see, in a way I don’t fully understand yet.
And perhaps I need to stop treating every setback as a personal failure.
With the haze showing no signs of letting up anytime soon, I’ve decided to get a treadmill so I can ease myself back into moving at home. Slowly. Gently. At my own pace.
The exact model I got for my home.
No pressure to hit a certain number of steps. No rushing to prove that I’m back. Just taking one step at a time until I’m ready to make my debut into the outside world once again.
Because I’m not giving up on getting better. I’m just learning that I don’t have to rush it.
For now, I’ll rest when I need to, move when I can, and trust that I’ll get there eventually.
Even if the journey takes a little longer than I had planned.
Dear body, I’m still a little upset with you. But we’re going to work through this. One day at a time.
P.S. I’ve got a new treadmill at home! I’ll share my thoughts and review it in another post next week. Let’s see if this becomes the beginning of my next little comeback. ❤️
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