A little hungover and whole lotta happy

Stuck in bed this morning and not exactly upset about it. Last night was fun. Normal, regular fun on a Friday night.

We got a babysitter and went out, like people do. Hit a happy hour for some silly sake cocktails and sushi then bar hopped through the neighborhood. A normal Friday night, cab rides and all.

That last bar was a total dive. The kind of place that checks everyone’s ID (ID me? Seriously?!? There are no twos or threes in my age but OK, whatever, I handed over my lisence to the doorman, completely reminiscent of college) and I woke up this morning with their name still stamped across the back of my hand. Sophomoric? Definitely. And, still, absolutely perfect.

I checked the pedometer from yesterday and it totaled over four thousand steps. That is a huge number for me. The reason I’m not working yet isn’t because I can’t do it, I just totally did it yesterday (woo hoo!). The reason I’m not working yet is I because can’t do it consistently. Not even close. I’ll be in bed all day today resting legs so shaky that just getting to the fridge twenty feet away is a tenuous exercise fraught with a real risk of falling. Punching a clock is totally out of the question… for now.

But I can, I can actually walk that far sometimes.

That’s new. That’s a change. That’s fantastic.

What does that mean? Who the hell knows. This isn’t a race and I’ll never cross the finish line anyway so victory has to come another way. I can’t measure success in increments of getting my old life back. This is the life I get now. My husband and I had a great date night out last night. The weather was perfect, the happy hours were fun and somehow each place had an open chair waiting for me the moment we walked in the door. I walked far yesterday, holding my husband’s hand and we laughed and talked about everything. Everything, that is, except my injury and recovery. It was a perfect, perfect night.

We almost didn’t go to the third bar, I was getting pretty tired even though we had been out less than two hours at that point but my husband was almost giddy with excitement about being out on a Friday night so I agreed. I realize today that he was happy about having fun. He was enjoying the evening without having to constantly worry about me. I see how good it was that he got to be normal too.

That’s new for him. That’s a change for him. That’s fantastic too.

I guess we both get to count victories that come in another form now: a few drinks out and about, holding hands walking through a neighborhood restaurant district, and a black smear of ink across our hands.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *