Today started so well.
A decent sleep, a bit of calm, and a feeling that maybe—just maybe—I could do something for myself.
My husband was heading out for a short walk with the dog at 8.30 before work. He said, “Just a quick one.” I saw my moment.
I can get upstairs. I can do this. I’m strong enough.
So, I bum-shuffled my way up—backwards, slowly, determined. It took time, but I got there.
I felt proud. Independent. Then… distracted. The clock ticked on, and when my husband came back, it was nearly nine. And he was not happy.
He’s juggling everything: full-time work, the kids, and now caring for me full-time. I get it.
He’s worn out. But all I wanted was a moment of independence. Just a little win,that was my Mount Everest for the day!
And yet… that small victory came at a price.
The pain in my leg flared, and I realized I now had to get back downstairs again.
The rest of the day became much tougher.
Then there’s the water. Oh God, the water.
“Drink water.”
“Are you drinking enough?”
“Keep sipping.”
Not just from him—from everyone. Water has become the new Irish tea.
But all I want is a bloody Coke Zero.
I’m off coffee. I am told water will cure everything now as opposed to tea (why times have changed),
I’m ticking every recovery box. But I just want someone to run in, crack open a cold can, and hand it to me like it’s a trophy.
And the meds—don’t get me started. My medication board looks like a hospital pharmacy.
I’m not recovering from cancer or something catastrophic, but the volume of it is ridiculous. Necessary, but overwhelming.
My aunt called.
Her daughter went through the same kind of injury and we talked about the struggles for women especially when you have kids aswell.
Later that day, my gorgeous friend arrived with a beautiful bouquet of flowers.
She’s moving away— to the States. It was such a thoughtful visit, but also a gut-punch. She’ll be back in a few months, I thought.
Will I still be here? Still stuck? Still not back at work?
I tried to do a few practical things.
Started looking for a carer—because my husband can’t carry all of this.
Made a few calls. Took a few notes. Baby steps.
But the most surprising thing?
I got excited.
Excited about this blog.
About sharing what recovery is really like.
The ideas are buzzing.
The question is: Are they realistic?
