Didn't see this one coming

It's not like I've lived my entire life uninjured up to this point, but the injuries I've sustained have been relatively minor: a sprained ankle; various sutures; lumps, bumps and bruises; and slicing the tips of my fingers off at various points. Even when I got hit by a car on my bicycle years ago, I was a little battered, but mostly just stiff and sore. And with every injury, the pattern of healing has been pretty much the same: hurt for a while, take it sort of easy, and then bounce back to life.

This one, though, has been different in its longer-lasting effects. I was really lucky in the severity of the type of injury and managed to bounce back relatively quickly. Around the 7-week mark, I was walking unassisted, even though it was with a heavy limp for a good week or two after. As soon as the cast came off, I was able to pretty much get back to work, and though I had some big nerves surrounding scooter riding, I was on it and back to getting around.

Physically, I'm about as healed as I'll get with this injury and the only thing left is time to iron out the minor kinks. What's taken me a bit by storm is the emotional effects of it. Three months down the road, I don't feel like I've gotten back to normal. One of the things I swore to make a priority early on was to keep on with work as much as possible, and not take a break from it. I knew that if I stopped for even a week, it'd be incredibly hard to get back on track. And besides, it wasn't like I was laid up in the hospital or had broken all the bones in my hands — I could talk and type, and take cabs where I couldn't walk. As the days turned into weeks, I was able to more or less maintain a status quo.

Now, though, my momentum and drive isn't where it used to be. I know that to get it back, I just have to start doing , but it's that gap between where I am and where I need to be that I'm having trouble crossing. It didn't help, too, that for the first time, I was pummeled with a small laundry list of health issues that knocked me down a bit as soon as I got onto the next step: a cold one week, eye injury the next — whatever. I just couldn't seem to stay on the track I'd carved out for myself.

People have been incredibly patient with me, and I know I'm testing their limits. I know I'm reaching the ends of their leashes. I know this, and yet it's like watching a movie with someone else in it but it's as effective as talking at them through the screen. The message isn't equating with action, and I don't know if it's because I'm not using the right words or shouting at the wrong screen.

This is one of the things that was totally unexpected about a major injury, and it's something that's taking a bit of time to learn about.