Saturday, August 11, 2012

Last Raps

I returned to work in mid-May, halftime for about six weeks. Although my physical therapist forewarned me, I was nonetheless staggered by how much energy I expended just getting to work. 

I had to shower every day, brush my teeth every day, fix my hair every day, apply make-up every day, get dressed every day, contend with traffic every day, and walk .2 mile down an incline into a reverberatingly noisy tunnel and then back up out of it every day before I finally arrived at my courtroom. Exhausting. 

I had lived my life at home in a more relaxed, shall we say, manner. And before that, during the first six weeks post-surgery, my poor injured mind couldn’t even conceptualize teeth brushing (see, Bumpy Postoperative Course: Mental).

I was warmly welcomed back which I very much appreciated. It was wonderful to again see my judicial colleagues as well as the prosecutors and defense attorneys who regularly appear in my court.

Still, I found myself longing for the pace and beauty of my life at home. It took nearly two months before I felt fully engaged again at work.
I discovered painfully that my vulnerabilities from all that I went through (see, Surgery and Bumpy Postoperative Course[s]) left me more sensitive and reactive than before.  At times this made for tough going in felony court. I noticed, for example, that when a witness lied, I actually felt it in a physical way. I pondered this awareness in order to find ways to regain dispassion.

Despite the struggles and adjustments, I feel happy and have zest for living. 

I fought for that zest while I was ill and wrestled it from the jaws of death.

I have it when my husband looks yearningly at me despite my altered physical appearance. I have it as I delightedly explore the craft of writing. I have it when I awake in the morning, and I have it when I retire at night.
This is my last post on this blog. Thirty seems like a good number to end with. People from more than 75 countries have viewed this blog. Thanks for reading and for being with me on this journey. 

© Jean DiMotto, 2012   Website: