Well, Slap Me Silly!

Saw my wound care doctor today. Instead of moaning about the two worsening wounds on my posterior, I'll cut to the chase. I've been in total denial. I can't say this never crossed my mind, because it has, many times, but I never let it stay for more than a second. I just mentally flicked it away like it was a pesky fly. But Doctor Bennet said something that brought the thought back, and I wasn't able to swat it away this time. He said that healing up my wounds wasn't going to be a problem, but if anything anything was going to keep me from getting the orthopedic surgery to straighten my legs, it would be the hidradinitis that has caused a bunch of open sores to stretch the width of my abdomen. 

I knew that. I wouldn't admit it to myself, but deep inside I knew it. And since there is no cure for hidradinitis except for excision, which the surgeon has already declined to do, that means all my plans and hopes for some kind of independence would be stopped dead in their tracks. It's not as if that's happened but I believe, in all likelyhood, that it will. There's a slim chance they'd do it anyway, but that's not a realistic expectation.

What to do, what to do?

Suicide is not on my list of possibilities, but I don't know how I will cope if the door to my greatest hopes, hopes that I hold onto for dear life, is slammed irrevocably in my face. I'm not certain just how far my strength and courage would stretch. It hasn't happened yet. Don't worry about it. I wish I could follow that advice, but too much is at stake. I truly hate the way my life is now. If I really believed that it wouldn't be able to get better, that I would have to face years more of living this way.... It's inconceivable. I'd feel like I had been diagnosed with a painful disease that would stretch out interminably -- no treatment or cure, just pain. I already have one of those kinds of diseases. I really don't know if I could handle two.

So, I feel kinda dumb for not facing this probability. It's best that I do, though. I have time, now, to explore possibilities and think about how I'd react.  Make plans, so to speak. Don't take that as an ominous foreshadowing of what I have in mind, OK? I really don't have anything in mind. Little Miss Hopeful, here, is still rooting for getting the surgery. 

So I guess it's even more important, now, for me to refocus my attention on something which I have some control over. And the only thing I have any control over is my mind. And my upper torso and my arms and hands, which is a considerable advantage over not having any control over them. But I have to tell the truth. I'm worn out, mentally. I just want to lay back and listen to some music, maybe some reggae. I used to love dancing to reggae. Now I just dance on the inside when I hear it.

Dance and love and laugh, my special spirit friends. I will strive to do the same.