9 Months and 3 Months
Three months post-op, nine months since the bleed: a short reflection
Nine months ago my life changed in an instant. Three months ago I went under the knife. Those two dates, the haemorrhage and the surgery, mark a before and after that I keep measuring myself against. It is tempting to do that, to line up the old me against the new me and check what is missing. But there is value in the inventory. So here is mine.
What I have lost
Some losses are obvious and practical. I no longer feel properly on the right-hand side of my back. There is pressure there; I can tell something is happening, but I do not get the actual sensation. It feels strange, almost like a curiosity rather than a catastrophe. (Yes, I joked that it would make a tattoo painless, but I do not plan to test that theory.)
Sleep has gone sour. Falling asleep takes longer, and my nights are punctuated with wakes. That ripple carries into my days. I am tired, and naps have become part of recovery. Before all this I did not care much about tiredness; now it hits every sense and I am desperate for balance again. Thankfully my care team are confident sleep will improve, and I am impatient to see that happen.
I also lost my job. Long-term illness has consequences, and this was one of them. It hurts, but I keep the perspective that health matters more. I will work again, probably for a new company. It is a price I am willing to pay to be here.
What I have gained
The list of gains is shorter but heavier.
I have gained an urgency to appreciate the basics: health, family, friends, and sunlight. Simple things, sitting in the park, watching people, walking the neighbourhood without worry, feel like luxuries I do not take for granted anymore. Survival sharpens the edges of gratitude.
There is a deeper contentment too, the relief and astonishment of being alive. Many people in my position do not get the same reprieve. That luck is not small; it changes priorities.
Looking ahead
My care team expects further improvement over the next three months. Clinically, the six-month mark is often written as the new baseline. After that, gains are less likely. I am ready for that date. Ready to accept what I am now, not the old me, and maybe not exactly the person I expected to become, but still me. Halfway through my life, perhaps, the “new me” is the version I get to live from here on.
If there is one thing this period has taught me, it is the value of clarity: measure the losses honestly, celebrate the small recoveries, and be ready to embrace the person you are when the dust settles. I am doing that, one slow night and one sunny park walk at a time.
