It was late Friday evening, and we were both feeling vulnerable. I was slurping on a microwavable cup of tomato soup, and Julie was eating an open-face sandwich. We talked openly and discovered new things about ourselves, but more on that later.

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I thought I knew myself, but I’m always learning something new. Or perhaps I’m learning more about things that I already knew. I dreaded my elective surgery. I had heard terrible things about the recovery, but something else was bothering me, and I didn’t know what it was.

In my usual style, I planned and over-planned. I researched what others dealt with after shoulder surgery. I practice behaviors like taking a shower with only one hand. I purchased a few items that would aid my recovery. I set up a station in my family room where I could recover in a reclining chair with things to occupy my time and hold my interest. All of these things gave me a sense of control and comfort.

I had quite a bit of pain the first week, but that was expected. I was surprised at how vulnerable I felt and incapable of doing the simplest things.

Initially, my recovery felt like I was having a childhood snow day. I could do what I wanted without feeling guilty for not being productive. The first two days were wonderful in that regard, but then I fell into a slump, feeling both sorry for myself and somehow abandoned. This phase quickly moved into my usual state of accepting the situation, planning solutions, and looking forward. I focused on the fact that I was showing improvement every day, but it was still tough for me not to do what I did in my retirement, such as cleaning the house or shopping for groceries. This surprised me.

I’m a clear communicator, and before the surgery, I told people close to me what I needed from them.  In most cases, things went as expected, but I did have a few surprises. One person close to me got into a trivial fight with me. This was surprising because we had never fought before. Further, it was over something that had been settled many months ago. For a few days, that person barely talked to me and was unavailable to help me. Initially, I was hurt, then angry, and then hurt again. However, after thinking about it, I realized what was going on. I was always there for that person and was the person who could always solve their problems no matter what they were. I was their caretaker, and my illness frightened them. Luckily, that period of distancing was short and entirely resolved after a few days.

I have another very close connection who I told that I needed visits during my recovery. Seeing the discomfort on his face when I mentioned this surprised me. He did show up multiple times at my house with a cup of coffee in hand and was willing to engage in conversation; however, his level of anxiety was palpable. I always thought that this person had a germ phobia, but in reality, he has a fear of illness and a fear of being vulnerable. Seeing me ill was upsetting and threatening to him. I appreciated his willingness to visit me despite this considerable hurdle. However, I felt an obligation to ease him of his pain. I emphasized to him how well I was improving while doing whatever I could to give him a pass not to visit. 

What surprised me the most was what I learned about myself. These were not entirely new revelations; they emphasized common recurring themes. I pride myself on being a problem solver and a take-charge person. I pride myself on being able to rely entirely on myself. To be honest, I pride myself that I don’t need anyone. However, this last statement is ridiculous.  It is in my psyche as a protective mechanism allowing me to pull away and seal over if someone is hurting me or (worse) abandoning me. The above traits have been key to my successful life.  However, they are only part of an incomplete story.

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The kids were away for the evening, which added raw quiet to the room. So there we were on that Friday night. Julie asked me if I wanted anything for dinner. I wasn’t very hungry, but I asked her to heat up a microwaveable cup of tomato soup and to make me a half-sandwich. I made a pot of tea to assuage my guilt of not being productive. We both had a rough week.

Julie had her cancer check-up.  Thankfully, she got an all-clear on the cancer front.  However, a new and potentially serious problem from her radiation therapy was discovered. She was stressed from this and the added burden of doing many of the jobs I usually did. Just the day before, she had twice locked her keys in her office, requiring the building super to come to her aid. She told me how guilty she felt that I was left alone during my second week of recovery.  This surprised me, and I reassured her that I could occupy my time and care for my basic needs. She noted that she thought others must think of her as horrible for working and leaving me alone. I told her that was not the case. It was clear that she was emotionally exhausted, just like I was.

Her vulnerability opened a door in my mind and allowed me to access my vulnerability.  I told her how guilty I felt about relying on others, but there was more to my feelings. There was a real fear that those who I love would not be willing to help me during my time of need.  A genuine concern that they would reject me, perhaps ridicule me.  A fear that I would be abandoned and alone.  That fear fueled me to go grocery shopping for the family 10 days into my recovery.  I prided myself on the fact that I could pack and transport bags of groceries only using my left hand. That fear is what pushed me to practice preparing food and taking a shower only using my left hand the week before surgery.  That fear drove me to tell my friend I needed him to visit me.  That fear is what caused my anger and hurt when a loved one got into an argument with me days after my operation.  

I realized how I had turned fear into an asset as a young child. I combined it with anger to become independent and self-sufficient. I used it to reject other’s views that I would never amount to anything, and to build a sense of self-confidence.  But now, in a vulnerable state.  A time when I couldn’t be independent.  At a time when I needed help even to make a sandwich, my core fear was re-emerging.  

When I become frightened, I instantly go into my head. I problem-solve, analyze, and journal to dig deeper.  You can see that process in real time in this blog post. In reality, I do need people in my life.  In fact, I have been reasonably independent during my early recovery stage.  I can shower, dress myself, and prepare simple meals for myself.  In reality, I do feel bad that I can’t take care of my family and friend’s needs.  But I know that situation is temporary.  My childhood caretaking traits were likely a defense against my fear of abandonment.  However, they are now a well-established habit that gives me pleasure and a sense of genuine worth.

There is a theme that runs through my life and my blog posts. Things are neither good nor bad. It is how we view them that determines their meaning.

Somehow, as a very young child, I was able to take fear and anger and turn those feelings into strength—an imperfect strength, but a strength that has served me well throughout my life. Suppose I hadn’t faced certain situations in my early life. In that case, I don’t think I would have developed my problem-solving, empathy, and self-confidence abilities, which allowed me to do some amazing things. I find that counterpoint very interesting.

Things are neither good nor bad…they just are. What we do with them is what matters.

Peace

Mike