Let me first say that I do not mean this is a literal sense. I would love it if the bathroom scale read lighter all the time, but menopause seems to work in the opposite direction. Which isn’t very nice. The lightness I am referring to is of my being. I, in my core, feel like a burden has been lifted. Before now, if I told you I was feeling hopeful that  my back would heal, that was the kind of hope that you have to work at. It is manufactured through intention, it is grunt work. Grunting and hope don’t reside together well.

It is now 5 weeks since back surgery. I saw the wonderful Dr. Oh on Tuesday. If he wasn’t forthcoming with words of encouragement, I was prepared to tell him exactly what I needed to hear. I needed him to tell me that everything I was experiencing was normal. Increased pain? Normal. Can try getting back to some usual activity but stop if it increases pain; don’t expect to be able to do much for a while. All normal. All good.

When I feel hopeful now, there is a reason for it. I don’t care how long it takes. I can be patient. My back is fixed and I am in healing mode. I can feel it. I know it. I glow from it. Someone said I looked younger. That isn’t because I am in less pain. It is because I am less afraid. The wise Juliana wrote the other day:

Discomfort is a reality but suffering is a choice.

I hurt. I hurt plenty. But I am not suffering. I am optimistic and I can see, in my mind’s eye, a time when I am without pain. Or close to it. I had nearly exhausted myself swimming up stream but I have reached that lovely gently swaying waters of the big lake, holding me while I float along. I will spend my summer days taking  early morning walks in the company of  friends, reading fat novels, accomplishing a little of this and a little of that, and punctuate my days with cat naps. Literally: I mean napping with cats. I lie on my back with an ice pack along my spine. Cleo lies across my belly. Gabby, who never actually lies on anyone, curls herself into the triangle behind my knees. Sometimes, against her better judgement, she is halfway lying on my leg. I don’t care how hot. I am soothed by kitty weight.

Hope is not a feeling, hope is a decision. Hope is a choice. Hope is believing despite the evidence, then watching the evidence change.         Jim Wallis

I am hopeful and happy and optimistic and in pain and with limitations.  It’s a package deal. It’s all me.