Yeah, I know. The pic! Comparing myself to the Terminator, even the version when Arnold was getting a little long in the tooth for action films, is, admittedly, a stretch. However, as I've been thinking about what to title this post, I realized I currently identify a bit with the Terminator.
Not in its awesome ability to wreak havoc and sow destruction. I'm pretty sure I left that guy behind a while ago now. No, I identify with the beat-to-hell cyborg at the end of the first flick -- when you think for about the sixth time that Sarah Connor and baby-daddy-from-the-future, Kyle, have finally vanquished the robot that some program thought should speak accented English...but it just keeps...coming...back.
So, where have I been? In posts going back a year plus, I referenced that my time in recovery to that point had included getting through Lyme disease (that took eight months), and a seriously blown knee that required surgery and a year of heavy-duty PT. Following the 2021 holidays, I was anticipating a blog post about how great it was to get back to skiing with the family again after all of that.
Unfortunately, I must've checked the box on my AARP card that said I'd like to take on surgery as a hobby. I got skiing again, and, at the end of my second week back, I tore a ligament in my left thumb. I'm lefty. Back into surgery, less than a year removed from the last. Months of OT rather than PT. That was 2/22.
Fast forward to the end of '22 and I'd added two more surgeries. To date, my 50s have included four surgeries for four completely unrelated reasons in 19 months. I'm 52! None of it was dangerous (really). It was kind of the 50,000-mile service, the expensive one where they take everything apart to get to the timing belt. Thankfully, they were able to put Humpty together again.
So, where have I been? I've been getting my ass kicked! But this isn't a pity party. That's just by way of explaining my disappearing act. Pro-tip: Pity parties for people with SUD end poorly.
A number of my usual audience have seen all or part of my three-year study in my own anatomy in progress. Life overall hasn't been terrible by any means, but, somewhere along the way, I ran out of steam. I was spent. I had to take painkillers, well-managed and by design, but I wasn't in shape to bring on new clients when I was incapacitated for weeks at a time between surgeries and medication. I wasn't actively seeking new clients, so, no blogs (Thanks, to those who asked about my silence along the way).
But now, like half-faced Terminator in the pic above, I'm back, scars and all! Recuperation when you can't pick up anything heavier than the remote (Surgery #4 was a hernia repair) leaves a lot of time for thought, so I'm looking forward to sharing things I learned while I was undergoing my restoration.
The most important, though, I can wrap up here in one (long) sentence. The way I kept on going, the way I can honestly say I not only never drank, but that it was never even really a thought, and I (mostly) kept a smile on my face, is that no matter how much it sucked to hear they were going to cut me open, again(!), or how interminable the uphill boulder rolls seemed, it was always better than my last few years of drinking. I wasn't hurting my family, and there was hope.
That means, if you are reading this and you are in the throes of active addiction, my past three years of near-constant pain were better than what you are going through right now. But there is hope. It's easy to forget that where you are. I did. But now I'm proof that not only is there hope, but that hope isn't just wishful thinking. Hope means, if you don't quit, there's always a chance.
So! I'm back, and I want to help, but I can't find you. You have to reach out to me. I hope you do.
-- Chappy
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