Asking for Help

In mid-July I’m having outpatient surgery on my wrist. It’s fairly routine, but I’ll be home recovering for a week. This has me rattled. It’s my dominant hand, and I have no idea how truly incapacitated I will be.

Will I be able to open jars? Medicine bottles? I’ll open them in advance. Will I be able to cook? I’ll make casseroles that will be easy to heat up. Or maybe a big pot of spaghetti. And there’s always pizza delivery. I won’t wear anything with zippers. I’ll do all my shopping in advance.

Still, it’s scary to think of being even the least bit helpless when I have little or no support in this town. A coworker is actually driving me to the surgery. And my neighbors would come if I shouted out the bedroom window. They’re really nice. I have also made a few acquaintances.

I just hate to bother anybody. That would even be the case if I were back in Florida where I had plenty of friends around. I’m used to having to rely on myself.

And yet, if someone were to ask for my help, I’d give it without hesitating. Why don’t I think I deserve that same treatment? Why do I think that others would not be just as generous?

Maybe I need to be reminded that it’s okay to be vulnerable. It’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay to not have everything under control.

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