destinylaharris

Tag: healing

  • Sunday Things #3

    There’s something about Sundays that makes me look back at the week a little differently.

    The little moments start connecting.

    The uncomfortable ones.

    The funny ones.

    The ones that seemed insignificant at the time but somehow became the story.

    This week wasn’t productive.

    It wasn’t exciting.

    It was slow.

    And maybe that’s exactly what I needed.

    For the first time in a long time, I didn’t have the option to keep moving.

    My body made that decision for me.

    ☕ This Week’s Comfort

    A heating pad.

    King of the Hill playing in the background.

    Naps that happened whenever they happened.

    And finally being able to shower after surgery.

    Sometimes comfort isn’t exciting.

    Sometimes it’s simply finding one position that doesn’t hurt.

    📷 Through My Lens

    I didn’t pick up my camera this week.

    Instead, I spent a lot of time noticing things from the recliner.

    How quickly the days blurred together.

    How different every hour of recovery felt.

    And how healing can somehow feel painfully slow and surprisingly fast at the same time.

    💭 A Thought I’ve Been Carrying

    This week reminded me that healing isn’t passive.

    It feels like you’re doing nothing…

    but your body is doing everything.

    I’ve spent so much of my life feeling guilty whenever I slowed down.

    This week, I didn’t have a choice.

    And maybe that’s okay.

    Maybe resting is still moving forward.

    Just in a different direction.

    ❤️ This Week’s Gratitude

    I’m grateful the surgery went well.

    I’m grateful they finally found answers.

    I’m grateful for heating pads.

    For nurses who don’t wait for you to ask if you’re hurting.

    For pain medicine that worked faster than I thought was possible.

    For everyone who checked in on me.

    And especially for my boyfriend, who has spent the week making sure I haven’t had to worry about much of anything except getting better.

    😂 This Week’s “Well…That Happened.”

    I have become painfully aware of just how many things require your abdominal muscles.

    Shifting positions?

    Sore.

    Walking?

    Sore.

    Coughing?

    Absolutely not.

    Yawning?

    Apparently that’s an abdominal activity now, too.

    Even getting comfortable requires getting uncomfortable first.

    I knew I was going to be sore after surgery.

    I just didn’t realize my stomach was involved in approximately 97% of existing.

    And then, of course, there’s pooping after surgery.

    That’s an entire adventure of its own.

    I’ll leave it at that.

    🌱 This Week’s Small Joy

    My peanut butter pie finally arrived. 😅

    I knew it was coming.

    I’ve been waiting for it.

    And after spending several days snacking more than actually eating, I was VERY happy to finally see that pie.

    There were other little things, too.

    Video calls with my sister that kept me sane.

    My heating pad practically becoming another appendage.

    King of the Hill playing while I drifted in and out of naps.

    And noticing the bloating and gas finally starting to ease up.

    Nothing huge.

    But this wasn’t really a week for huge things.

    This was a week for finding something good in the small ones.

    Until next time.

    -Destiny

    P.S. What’s one small thing that made a hard day feel a little easier this week? I’d love to hear about it. 🖤

  • Day Two

    Recovery is strange.

    Everyone prepares you for the surgery.

    Not many people prepare you for the waiting afterward.

    Today has mostly been heating pads, naps, walking a little, trying to get comfortable, and discovering that the trapped gas from laparoscopic surgery is somehow more annoying than the incisions themselves.

    I’ve become very grateful for whoever invented heating pads.

    (Seriously.)

    My body feels like it’s reminding me every few minutes that it went through something yesterday.

    Not in a scary way.

    Just in an honest one.

    Recovery isn’t dramatic.

    It’s slow.

    It’s uncomfortable.

    It’s watching another episode because getting up sounds like too much work.

    It’s celebrating small victories that normally wouldn’t deserve mentioning.

    Like finally being able to use the bathroom.

    Or realizing you can laugh without it hurting quite as much as it did yesterday.

    I don’t have many answers yet.

    Those come in a couple of weeks.

    For now, my only job is to rest.

    And for someone who always likes to be doing something…

    That might be the hardest part.

    — Destiny

    P.S. Healing doesn’t always look productive. Sometimes it just looks like giving your body permission to catch up.

  • We Got Some Answers.

    Yesterday, I ended my journal entry by saying I’d let you know what today brought.

    So…

    Here’s the update.

    The surgery went well.

    The doctors found endometriosis.

    They also found fibroids on the back side of my uterus.

    As strange as it sounds, I actually felt relieved hearing that.

    Not because I’m happy to have either of those things, obviously. But because after wondering for so long, there’s finally an explanation for at least part of what I’ve been experiencing.

    I’ll know more in about two weeks when I go back for my follow-up appointment, but for now, I’m just grateful to finally have some answers.

    When I woke up after surgery, I was cramping like I was on my period, and I was definitely uncomfortable.

    The nurse gave me some medication through my IV, and within seconds the cramps eased up.

    I looked at her and joked that I needed them to prescribe whatever that was for my periods because I’ve never had anything work that fast before.

    After that, I celebrated my successful surgery with the world’s most gourmet meal:

    Saltine crackers and a Sprite.

    Honestly?

    Not bad.

    One thing I wasn’t expecting was the heated gown.

    Why has nobody told me those things exist?

    That may have been one of my favorite discoveries of the day.

    I’ve been home since around noon, sleeping on and off in the recliner, wrapped up in my blanket with Bailey Sarian playing in the background.

    My boyfriend stayed with me through everything today, waited while I was in surgery, and has been taking such good care of me since we got home.

    He’s definitely earned a few extra brownie points. 🖤

    Thankfully, I’m not in the kind of pain I was preparing myself for.

    Mostly, I’m just uncomfortable, crampy, and unbelievably sleepy.

    I have a feeling tonight will end the same way most of today has gone…

    With another nap.

    Yesterday I wrote that maybe today would bring answers.

    It did.

    Not all of them.

    But enough to finally feel like we’re moving in the right direction.

    For now, I think that’s enough.

    I’ll keep you updated after my follow-up appointment in a couple of weeks.

    Until next time,

    -Destiny

    P.S. For now, my only plans involve naps, blankets, and letting my body do the hard work of healing. 🖤

  • Between the Lines #1

    I wrote this before this blog ever existed.

    It was tucked away in one of my notebooks, waiting for the right place to live.

    I think it found that place here.

    Scars

    The gods always asked

    for sacrifices.

    Some were given lambs.

    Some were given daughters.

    I was given myself.

    No temple stood above me,

    no choir sang my name,

    yet something holy

    was taken all the same.

    Every pale line

    is another language

    my body learned

    instead of peace.

    The ones across my legs

    look like rivers

    on an old map—

    proof that even broken things

    search for somewhere

    to belong.

    People ask

    if I regret them.

    As if regret

    could erase history.

    As if skin

    ever forgets

    the knife,

    the fingernails,

    the hands that held too tightly,

    the nights that stole

    more than sleep.

    My skin is carved with scars

    that someone else earned.

    Not mine.

    Mine was only the body

    left behind

    after their hands,

    their words,

    their silence

    had already decided

    what would become of it.

    My skin was never sacred.

    It was only the altar.

    They called it survival.

    The gods

    would have called it

    an offering.

    Maybe that’s why

    I no longer pray

    for smooth skin.

    I pray instead

    for gentler hands,

    for quieter nights,

    for a body

    that no longer mistakes

    silence

    for safety.

    If the gods ever come looking

    for the pieces

    they abandoned,

    they’ll find them here—

    written beneath my skin,

    where every scar

    became a sentence,

    every sentence

    became a story,

    and somewhere along the way,

    I stopped being

    the sacrifice.

    I became

    the monument.

    Until next time,

    — Destiny

    P.S. Which line stayed with you the longest?