Don’t be a martyr. Don’t be a mammy-martyr or a worker-bee-martyr or any other kind. It didn’t end well for Joan of Arc and it won’t end well for you.
I don’t know if it’s an Irish thing or a woman thing or a mother thing, or maybe a little bit of all of these, but so many of us are sucking it up just a little too often.
I have a real-life example: in April, I sprained my finger (all the not too gorey details here) and in June I discovered that it had in fact been broken.
Today a consultant told me that it had healed incorrectly, and that the surgery to correct it would be BIG.
His words, his intonation. He said it would be six weeks before I can type or drive and six months before it would properly heal.
And that the biggest risk would be that I’d be unhappy with the outcome – he can’t promise that it will look or feel OK at the end of all of that.
I’m so annoyed with myself. On the day it happened, I did try to go to A&E but I was told it would be a three hour wait for an x-ray. I had my daughter with me, and I was working that afternoon so there was no way I could wait.
Being a worker-bee and a mother got in the way of dealing with something that could have been easily fixed on the day.
Now I’m facing this BIG surgery and a healing time that’s a hell of a lot longer than the three hours in A+E.
I am so, so annoyed with myself right now.
And of course, my instinctive reaction? I can’t have the surgery – I need to type for work and I need to drive to do the school-run.
Mother-worker-bee obligations getting in the way again.
(But seriously, six weeks of no typing? Whatever about work – it’s a long time to be away from Twitter and Facebook…)