About a month ago, I had surgery. Although I have had many surgeries over the course of my lifetime, I have not needed to have surgery for several years.
My recollection of surgeries past is that I always came out of it with a fighting spirit. My lust for independence was the driving force. I loved to work extra hard to impress my rehab therapists and hear them tell me I was a tough little girl. That made me feel strong, even though physically I was not.
Going into this most recent surgery, I had a pit in my stomach. I wondered if I still had what it took to be able to fight through the pain, and mind games the loss of independence can play. Was I still tough? I had my doubts for sure.
The anxiety really got the best of me in the final days leading up to the surgery. I did something I never did. I spoke aloud my fears to my nurse. She said, “Are you doing okay?” I must have been showing my nervousness even though I was trying not to.
I surprised myself when I admitted that I was really scared.
I did not elaborate and tell her that the thing that scared me most was that I would not be able to care for myself, in the way that I fight so hard to do every day.
Sometimes our worst fears do come true. This was one of those times. The recovery after the surgery was truly humbling. I was helpless in any way that I normally was independent. I do not recall a time in my life ever needing that much help. The true hero of this story being my husband.
Not only was I not physically strong, but I was also mentally at rock bottom. All because of fear that things would never be the same for me. Thoughts of is this my new normal? kept me up at night, as I waited for my husband’s alarm to go off in the middle of the night, telling him it was time to help me turn over in bed.
I could tell that he was also surprised by my mental state. He is used to me fighting through and pushing myself beyond my limits. I just did not have that in me for several weeks. He steadily continued encouraging me, pointing out the most minute details of any glimmer of my old self.
I had a lot of downtime to think during those first few weeks. My mind kept going back to that tough little girl. I wished that I could get a pep talk from her.
I was in awe of her looking back on that time. How did I do that so many times? I know in my heart that God gave me the strength to be that tough little girl who conquered the therapy tasks, even though I was in excruciating pain and scared I would fall. I did it anyway.
Encouraged by those memories, I knew that to get back to where I was, I had to fight for it. Fight through the pain and uncertainty but balanced with patience.
Each day, I get a little better, a little stronger. Still a ways to go.
My husband and I talked candidly about what the experience taught us.
We both shared that we have wondered how things would change for us when I start to need more extensive care as my disease progresses. This was a taste of what that could be like.
He passed with flying colors. It encouraged him and gave him the confidence that he would be up to the task. I never doubted him, I doubted me.
I would not say I passed with flying colors and am honestly a little disappointed in myself, and how quickly I felt defeated. That is just me being critical of myself.
However, I did turn things around and decided I was not going to stay in that low place. It just so happened that the day I was at my lowest was the day Stu and Jan paid me a visit, presenting me with my writing award.
After they left, I felt revived. I felt the high of the honor of receiving recognition for my writing, but also, I felt encouraged. I thought back on many of my own words over the last two years. Reminded that I still have that tough little girl inside of me.
Remembering that it is during the tough times that we learn the most about ourselves. We learn what we are truly capable of, and that there are others who can help us achieve our goals, if we let them.
Until next time …
Amy Shinneman is a former National Ambassador for the Muscular Dystrophy Association, disability blogger, freelance writer, wife, and mom of two boys. She is the recipient of the Reporter’s Winter 2025 Ink-Stained Wretch award. You can find her blog at humblycourageous.com and reach her on Instagram @ashinneman.