I should be sleeping. I should be curled up next to my husband in my own bed, my freezing toes toes tucked underneath his warm legs. I should be home, I should be doing wife things and thinking about what I’ll make for breakfast or who I’ll have coffee with.
I should be sleeping, but I’m wide awake. Partially from the nap I took after my 10th biopsy, and partially from the fact that I’m experiencing another guttural cry. It comes and goes, the emotion of it all. Tonight it came after seeing a video I took of myself after my recent surgery, too recent if you ask me. It’s odd, sometimes I think I almost forget or block out what I’ve gone through. The videos and the pictures allow me to see everything from the outsiders perspective. Your perspective, and I cry. I can’t help but cry for the girl in the pictures. The stitches everywhere, the bloody red mess, the swelling and the tubes. I feel so sorry for the girl in the picture. There in the hospital gown, bearing various scars and deformations, showing all that she’s endured, and then it hits me, that harsh reality hits me in the midst of my brokenness for the girl in that picture. That girl is me. So I’m crying. I’m crying as I sit in a bed that’s not my own, alone, with freezing cold toes, a throbbing in the back of my head where they poked a prodded today, and the images of the past two years swirling through my mind. I’m thinking about the upcoming medical appointments I have instead of what I’m going to cook my husband for dinner.
I should be sleeping, but I’m crying.
And that’s okay.