Recovery.

Just about forty eight hours after leaving the hospital and how are things going?

Slow. But steady.

I will admit this go around seems to be a lot harder than the previous two. Even after I had time to prepare myself, it hurts more, eating seems harder and the energy is totally not there.

Another words, it sort of still sucks. I am trying to hang in there. I go out and put on a smile. I had dinner with my family last night, where my cousin and her husband announced they were expecting their first child-for the record I called this a month ago-and I sit and converse as though everything is going smoothly.

And yet inside, I feel as though I am an emotional wreck. It hurts to eat, my appetite seems to be not there at times that I force myself to eat and when I do eat, its as if I have three bites and I am completely full. I know my parents, my husband and half the family would love to see me eat a lot more, to put back on that 8 Ibs I lost while in the hospital. But at times I wish they understood just how uncomfortable it is to actually eat.

Walking takes time, I go through moments where my energy is quite abundant and I have so much, but these moments are usually few and far between and don't last long. I sit and take breaks. Sleep, and still the energy doesn't return. I know this will change. But for the moment, the lack of umf is irritating. As is the unsteadiness of my movements. The fact my husband at times has had to hold me like my grandfather did in the final moments of my grandmothers life. I feel fragile.  

I find I am more emotional all around. I have cried over stupid stuff, commercials. Thoughts, dreams. and fears. Its completely unexplainable and I have a hard time trying to explain it. I cry because my cousin admits she is pregnant, and I am totally thrilled and yet jealous at the same time.

And then there is the fear. I think somewhere in the back of mind I am afraid this will happen. Again. Even if my husband guarantees that it never will, that I am done with this for once and and for all. And still I find myself saying, what if. There is nothing that could totally guarantee me anything. Life is filled with no guarantees.  Never say never. And so I walk around and I think, what if that pain returns, knowing this is not the way I should live, but yet can't help but do so. I hope with each passing day, and with each passing moment that the fear will somehow lesson, and I will somehow be able to put the fear behind me and move on.

No matter what my mind may say.

I know all these things listed above will get better with time.  I know it takes time, and patience and work. But for the moment, its slow.

And for now, I suppose that's ok.