My journey as a long distance runner who started the sport later in life.
I have been feeling bad today. Glum. Hopeless. Certain of calamity. Frustrated that this ever happened. Wishing I could turn back the clock to January 18 and decide not to go out for some exercise that day. Saying as much to my spouse. Checking myself on this, because it’s been a long time since I’ve had, and voiced, that particular lament. Wasn’t I over these feelings of regret? Hadn’t I already grieved my own stupidity and moved on to another stage? So I did what most of us do when we have vague symptoms and need answers: time for a medical internet search. We all know how reassuring those can be.
As it happens, I am no stranger to depression, so that’s what I searched for: surgery and depression. It turns out that this is actually a thing, and that it’s fairly common, though little discussed, and now I am still sad, but less worried. I have beaten this condition before. I found this article to be reassuring, especially so the myriad comments below it, of others just like me reaching out in their time of anguish. Is this a case of misery loves company that I was happy to find that I wasn’t alone? Maybe, it certainly is nice to know that I am not having some as yet undocumented surgical side effect, unique only to me in the entire universe, and for which there is no known remedy. Depression can convince you of anything, so long as it’s the worst-case scenario.
Tomorrow I am scheduled to get my first peek below the gauze. Tomorrow a PT technician will measure me for a splint. Tomorrow I will get my first PT session during which I will be able to record the needed movements, in what is a very unusual open gesture that puts the needs of the patient, me, first. I eagerly await the next stage, because a change is as good as a rest.