It’s me. Your owner. I’ve been thinking a lot about you these last two months. I cannot remember the last time I checked in with you or gave you praise, so these words are dedicated to you. Let’s talk about the last 66 days. You’ve endured two surgeries, two weeks of complete bed rest, the removal of staples, and bruises as a result of self-administered shots.
You have fallen and been knocked down. You are unstable. You are weakened, but you are here. Steadfast in your mission to survive. Sometimes, you are stronger than my mind and heart. I have doubted my choices. I am not entirely sure I can see the finish line. Yet, here you are; determined to support me when I have decided I am ready to fight another day.
I have to tell you that I am sorry. I am sorry that you’re having to endure these familiar struggles, again. Five years ago I promised you that I would not subject you to another orthopedic surgery. I meant what I said then, but circumstances have changed. You could no longer support me in my quest to walk.
Despite your effort and your will, which was mighty, you could not fight the inevitable. I had to weigh my options. A dangerously unstable Patella, constant instability, unpredictable dislocations, or temporary, immediate hardship for future gain. I hope you understand that I made the best decision I could with the information that I had available to me at the time.
To my heart, oh I know you are hurting. I can feel your pain. It was palpable yesterday after you broke down from sheer frustration. For 65 days you have moved on autopilot. Never allowing yourself a moment to sit with your emotions; I now realize it to be a means of guarding yourself. You allowed my mind to believe its denial. I know it was what I needed to make it through the worst phases of the pain associated with recovery. I’m ready now, though. I can no longer allow you to be neglected. You matter, too.
It is okay to admit that you are as bruised as my body. You are hurting. You are tired. I won’t allow you to give up, though. You are so much stronger than you feel right now. You have seen me through the many things I believed would defeat and engulf me. You did that. Not me. I also owe you an apology. I am sorry that I made a decision to focus on my body ahead of you. I am sorry that you were put on the back-burner. You are equally as important, and I will not neglect you. You are powerful. You are enough. You are a survivor.