I returned to work on Tuesday (past) after a (challenging) discussion with my General Practitioner.
I’ve spent all of today sleeping.
Recovery (I use the term loosely…) is taking longer than I thought. Turns out that GP’s sometimes know a thing or two…
I thought that once I was breathing, more like a normal person, I’d be ‘my old self’ (the self who didn’t know about the other crap and was just blithely sailing on into the future).
I look like my old self. I talk and laugh and joke and think (mostly) like my old self. I am just not anywhere near as energetic. Or enthusiastic. Or as resilient.
I am finding that I want to cry – quite a lot. And I spend considerable energy every day just suppressing that urge. My lungs still feel odd. Sensitive. Like they’ve been burned – and I am breathing through smoke. I am breathless and my legs ache when I climb stairs. I am not yet fit enough to do the moderate Walkway circuit – though I have tried.
Then there’s the too-fast-heart thing – not constantly too-fast, but just there. Occasional. Reminding me.
Of frailty. Vulnerability. Limitation. Mortality.
My very own glitch in the system. My on-board shit-faced irritant.
As for the work?
In the main, it was a typical new-start’s week: information coming at you in a tsunami of words and people and tasks.
Differentiation’s always difficult when it’s like that.
But I am starting now, to assemble the mental ‘filing baskets’ that will help me categorise and then perform the tasks that will be required of me.
There is much to be done. I don’t think I will be bored or unoccupied.
I’ll just leave it at that.