Once again, I have been a bit derailed from achieving my weekly writing goal.

On Monday, I was given the go-ahead from my surgeon to get back up on both feet again. I have to say, I have a much greater empathy for people with disabilities that prevent them from walking. It was painful putting weight on my foot at first, but it was so glorious! Once I got back home, I was free to address all the things I had not been able to do over the previous four weeks.

There was the large bag laying on the floor next to my closet. I’d used it to carry my boot and personal belongings to the surgery center. It belonged in the top of the closet, which I couldn’t reach. I hadn’t wanted to bother my husband with it as he was already a little overwhelmed with tending to my needs. It felt like a small victory to get that bag back into the closet.

Then there was my office. What a mess. Because I’d been relegated to either crutches or a knee scooter, I could not move freely through the small space. As a result, I created piles around my chair in order to have all the things I needed within reach.

Straightening that office was another victory. A big one.

Unfortunately, by Tuesday evening I’d received word that my father-in-law was failing. He’d been seriously ill for about a month with a large tumor they just couldn’t do anything with. He was 94 years old and too weak for any treatment. After working almost 10 hours that day, I made the one-hour drive to go see him as I was afraid I would lose my chance to see him before the end.

It was nearly 1:00 am before I got to bed that night. And at 7:00 am we received the news that he would be passing soon and the family needed to gather. So, I arranged for staff to cover the programs scheduled at work that I would miss, and we spent the day with family saying goodbye.

The next day my husband had a relatively minor procedure scheduled. Two procedures, actually, but we weren’t certain about that as the surgeon’s office hadn’t clearly communicated what all was being done.

We arrived at 12:15 pm for the appointment. Three hours later I was trying not to panic as I’m sitting alone in the waiting area, listening to the mindless drone of daytime TV drama and wondering why nobody was coming to tell me why this simple procedure had drug out for three hours.

I won’t share all the details about how he was slow coming out of anesthesia, likely from being under so long, or about how they chose to do three procedures all in one visit instead of spreading it out over two visits like they originally told us they were going to. My anxiety was only comforted after I had to go to the main hospital registration desk and ask someone to check on him. That anxiety quickly turned to anger and frustration at their lack of consideration for the frightened, anxious wife sitting alone for three hours with no word about what was happening.

As a result of all that had unfolded over the past couple of days, I’m laid up again. My surgical wound has become aggravated from too much activity. The triage nurse told me to back off, so here I sit.

All is well. At least as well as it can be. But it has left me short on my word count goal for the week. And that creates discouragement, which leaves me wallowing for a while. When I’ve been knocked down fore the tenth time, I struggle to muster the fight I need to stand and get moving again.