"...and nobody likes a fat bitch."

Oy. Today's outlook is not so good as other recent days. The usual frustrations with dependence, lack of mobility, exhaustion are still bubbling right under the surface, but something new has reared its ugly head. Technically, maybe these aren't new issues, but all of a sudden I feel the crushing weight of my broken foot on my self-confidence.
Today I started looking on the interwebs for things to take on the (third attempt at a) honeymoon. It's been kind of a devastating shopping experience. We don't know yet if I'll be walking or not by the time we go. Aside from the obvious issues to consider - how to best get through the airport? do we rent a scooter in California? does that mean we'll also need a ramp? - there are the things that piss me off even more. After 8 months of this, even on our honeymoon I can't wear cute shoes. This may not sound serious to you - but imagine wearing the same 5 left-footed *flat* shoes for 7 MONTHS. On my honeymoon, I'd like to feel somewhat sexy. I highly doubt this is going to happen. And this is not just about the shoes. I don't feel pretty at all anymore. Sitting on your ass for 7 months can contribute to a bit of weight gain. I can't stand on a scale, but I'd guess I've easily gained 20 pounds. My skin is a mess. For the first time in my life, I'm even having problems with my scalp. Every muscle in my body is tense and hurts most of the time. It's so hard to take a shower that I never feel clean. And my broken foot - oh - I fear I will never, ever get the smell out. I have been wearing essentially the same sock 23 1/2 hours a day for months. I STINK! And in case it's not become clear yet, I'm also really, really grumpy. To quote one of my bff's from a very challenging time in her own life - "this has made me gain weight, and it's made me bitchy - and nobody likes a fat bitch."
So that's the body I'm living in. But wait, there's more.
I feel like a huge burden. To my husband, my friends, my neighbors, my co-workers... if you've come into contact with me at all over the last 6 or 7 months, chances are I've asked you to do something for me. I HATE that. A year ago I was so fiercely independent that if you had told me I would soon need help taking a shower, driving to work or painting my toenails, I would have needed sedatives.
Hmmm. Odd little side note. As soon as I said that, I reminded myself of this story the priest told last week at Mass that at the time I thought was really odd, but... he said if you throw a frog into boiling water he jumps right out. But if you put him in cool water and slowly turn up the heat, he'll die. No idea what that meant right now, but there it is.
Anyway... I am SO disorganized. Way, way, way worse than ever before. We were clutter-keepers before The Incident, but OMG, so much worse now. Part of the problem is that I can't carry anything, part of it is that I can't reach anything. So when something comes out of the closet, the pantry, the garage, it never goes back in. It has become such a problem that I almost panic when I think about it. I have no idea how to conquer this. I am afraid we will never be able to get back to any sense of normalcy - in our house or otherwise.
I have become a bad house manager, but I also feel like a bad wife. Gone are the days when Gary can come home and relax. Or, like the good old days, where he can come home and I've picked up the house and made dinner and martinis, and still had time to shower and find something, er, evening-appropriate to put on. Now I am lucky to let the dog out, feed him his dinner and get my ticker box and wires off my foot before Gary gets home. And then *he* has to get the mail, bring in any groceries, take the trash in or out, walk the dog again, do laundry and carry things upstairs before he even changes into not-work clothes and helps with dinner. All we do is ... do stuff. There never seems to be much time or energy left to spend with each other... just being together... with nothing else to worry about.
Which brings me full circle. This honeymoon has been on hold for so long - as has the "honeymoon" period of our marriage - that I really want this to be special. I really want to look and feel confident and cute and carefree. Instead, I'm shopping and I'm worried about what the velcro on my boot will ruin, what's going to accomodate those extra 20 pounds, what goes with flat boring shoes. And I'm worried because I don't want my husband to have to take care of me on our honeymoon. I want him to have fun, not worry. I don't want him to have to carry the scooter, all the luggage, and the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Dr. Positivity told us that I will be able to run again. What he didn't mention was that first we'd have to get through the longest, highly-emotional, most grueling endurance test of our lives.
And I am frightened to find out - when I finally get to the finish line - how much of the old me will be there waiting.