|Poster from "The Sound of Music" showing Julie Andrews out having a nice day.|
God delivered and for that I am truly grateful, I guess. It's just that now I have nowhere to turn for help with all my new and endless problems resulting from that successful surgery. Except myself, of course, and I am finding that I am sorely lacking in the self-help department, despite having read "How to Be Your Own Best Friend" at least six times and "The Road Less Traveled" twice, not to mention scores of magazine articles on the subject.
For example, I have no idea how to be content with not being able to walk, or not sleep on my right side, or not go out and pick up the paper at the end of our driveway, or brush all the brambles from my cat's fur that have collected in the last week, or water the flowers out in my garden, or even drive to the damn grocery store to get whatever the heck I want on the spur of the moment, forget giving myself shots in the stomach and not being able to shower on a whim, or even at all. The shameful truth is that I'm an ingrate and as far as I'm concerned, life, at least right now, sucks.
But then I remember that this was elective surgery that I will likely get over, God willing (although I certainly can't ask), unlike the horrors that so many people face daily and forever, and so I'm trying hard to buck up. I'm hoping that once I can walk again and get this damn bandage off my leg that seems to stretch from here to Nebraska, I'll devote myself to helping the Poor and Disadvantaged and Terminally Miserable, or at the very least stop complaining about my lot in life and have a nice day when I can. I just hope I remember.