Recovery and Expatriation

It's been three weeks since I had my surgery and I'm still not 100%. It's difficult to go from feeling strong and fiercely independent to weak, insecure, and unabled-bodied. It's frustrating to feel like you have no control over your situation when what you've always done best is to control your surroundings. It's scary to learn that after a week of good days, one really bad day can set you back a week and a half. And if you're not careful, you're confidence can take a hit or your pig headedness can send you straight back from where you started.

Reexamining independence, questioning your stability, and facing your fears: There are alot of similarities between recovery from surgery and adapting to life overseas.

I haven't felt quite this unsure of myself since middle school having broken my arm and coming down with mono within the span of a year and a half. I remember feeling excited at the prospect of missing so much of the dreaded 7th and 8th grades when my doctors put me on a week of bed rest for the arm and then two months of bedrest for the mono. "You've got to take it very easy, sweetie. Let me take care of you," was my mother's favorite phrase. The highs of missing school lasted--maybe--a few days before I realized that bedrest was confining and claustrophic and that life was happening at a rapid pace without my participation. The psychological recovery was much more daunting than the physical one. I had to figure out how to keep in touch with the real world without losing my mind or damaging my health.

This go around I could close my eyes and transport myself back to 1987. My mom, the consummate supporter, flew to Berlin to take care of me and remind me to "Take it easy, sweetie." I fought every step of the way to regain my independence only to do too much and pay the price. "I told you sweetie that you MUST rest."

Likewise, I've felt isolated and doubtful about my existence in this strange culture that I'm trying to call home. The highs of being a hausfrau have just about worn off. I've felt less like a lady who lunches than a lady in waiting (for life to begin). I've fought the feelings that all of my happy, successful friends are living carefree lives (together) while I'm stuck in Deutschland on an island (alone). I'm fighting like hell to gain the strength not to give up on this infuriating language and questioning the sanity of people of seem in thrive on the gloom of this grey weather.

But bend rest does something else, too. (and it's positive, I promise) It gives you a chance to work through the noise in your head. For every two negative thoughts, I'm reminded of at least one positive one. I'm constantly reminded that I've done well in our five months here to stay balanced--I've made some friends, joined a book club and gym, made incremental progress in German, and done a fair amount of traveling. I've not been placed on Zoloft (yet). J and I have become closer since we moved and have learned that we still really enjoy each other's company. And Josie and Ramsey have not been given up by an anonymous donor. "You've just gotten here, sweetie. You MUST take it easy on yourself."

I am also reminded of this quote: "In spite of illness, in spite even of the archemy of sorrow, one can remain alive long past the usual date of disintegration if one is unafraid of change, in satiable in intellectual curiousity, interested in big things, and happy in small ways." (Edith Warton, The Backward Glance.)

So step by step, day by day is my motto of late. To be happy, you must actively seek happiness in all things big and small. I know that I'll look back at this time as I do on my middle school struggles with fondness. It was just a blip on the radar screen and I really did some serious growing up during that time. I don't wish to repeat it but I wouldn't trade the experience for the world.