Help

I hate asking for help.  Truth be told, what I really hate is NEEDING help.  I wasn't raised to need help, ask for things, expect things.  I was raised to make sure that I can handle everything.  Anything I couldn't handle, my parents could help with.  Nobody outside of the three of us.  That's how we operated.

Well, my mother is gone and my father is nearly 90.  It's just me -- the last viable member of the invincible three.  And I guess that's okay, but for the first time in a long time, I'm actually going to need something.  I made it through the other surgeries just fine because I wasn't completely impaired.  The last knee surgery, my father's only responsibility was to drive me to and from the hospital.  I handled the rest.  I learned to walk the stairs the first day out of the hospital -- even with a numb leg -- and I got myself to work and home for the next few weeks before I was cleared to drive.  I was good.  All good.

This time the surgery involves a large incision in my core.  I have no idea what to expect.  I hear it's an entirely different animal.  I've known people who've had the surgery -- people who are in worse shape and have less of a dedication to healing.  In my mind, I'm a strong girl, and I can heal it at least 1/2 the time as a mere mortal ( :-) ).  My friends tell me different.  They say that I should forget about being fully capable for at least a month, which is an amount of time that I can't even fathom.  If they are right -- which I hope they're not -- I will need help.

The dynamic of my relationships with my father and BF is that I'm the helper, the fixer.  They are used to calling me and everything will be better.  Because this is what I do.  Right or wrong, our relationships are not reciprocated.  I'm not surprised at this.  This is the dynamic that I created.  They don't take care of me because they've never needed to.  They don't even really know how.  Bless their hearts.

I get accused of being a control freak, and refusing to allow others to help.  I try to be better about it, but it seems that whenever I give someone a chance they don't live up to my expectations -- which is as much my fault as it is theirs.  Oddly, the dad and the BF have strikingly similar personalities (I'm sure that Freud would have a lot to say about that), and the two of them have given up trying to make me happy because I'm so particular.

All of this is the backstory.  As I look ahead to this surgery, I'm just trying to find ways to keep myself alive, comfortable and able to get back to work within 3 weeks -- if I have a job to do.

The bottom line is that I'm not comfortable with the vulnerability.  I don't want to need help.  And I will find ways not to.