Here’s something I’ve never been any good at: asking for help.

It’s been a week and a half now since my surgery. During that time, my wonderful man booked time off work, turned down extra shifts, held my hand, made phone calls, cleaned kitty litter, did dishes, vacuumed floors, washed clothes, changed dressings (ew…that’s gotta be love, that!) and basically did absolutely everything else around this joint. See, I’m not supposed to lift anything. Period.

This is hard! I’m a little bit OCD, always have been. When I see something out of place, or crooked, or misaligned I Must. Straighten. It. MUST. One of my very first memories is of a time we were very small children, before my little brother came along, because I was sharing a bedroom with my older brother – so I was definitely under 5 years old. There was a paint-by-numbers painting of a horse hanging over the dresser. We had been put down to bed for the night. I was always skittish about the dark as a child, so the door was cracked open and the hallway light was on, and I could clearly see that THAT PAINTING WAS CROOKED. OH, yes it was. Umm… yeah. So, I did what any four-year-old does – I talked my big six-year-old brother into straightening it.

Too bad he fell off the dresser and wound up at the hospital with stitches in his head… I still feel kinda bad about that. Sorry, man. Picture looked much better, if it’s any consolation.

But – the point is, even if something is causing no harm or discomfort to anyone, if it’s in the wrong place or not properly aligned – it bugs me. For a variety of reasons, I’ve spent most of my life doing for myself. It’s neither here nor there, I’m not looking for a pity party, it just is what it is, and it’s actually made me damned strong, but somewhat ridiculously proud. I’ve received some unasked-for help over the years, which was always appreciated, but on a couple of important occasions when I’ve asked for much-needed help in the past, I’ve been shot down and made to feel undeserving, which has kind of shut off some kind of emotional asking-for-help valve in me.

So, after working all night and then attending a half-day training session, before going home to sleep, Den came over and vacuumed, carried my laundry upstairs, cleaned the kitty litter, changed the cat’s water, filled the humidifier and took the garbage out. Because he’s just awesome, that’s why. I still needed help to get some groceries in the house, though.

I considered my options:

1. not getting groceries (not practical, there were some basic items I really needed).
2. making four or five trips to get groceries (well, that would be a pain).
3. trying to hire someone to help me get groceries (I’m not even sure how one would do that).
4. asking friends for help.

Eureka. Asking Friends for Help. What a concept! Within an hour of posting my plight on facebook, I was covered.

You know, I don’t know why I don’t ask for help more often. I’d be willing to help someone if asked, so I don’t know why I think there’s any shame in asking.

I don’t know what my point is, here, except that people are kind and we should all be there for each other when we’re needed. Not very profound, I suppose, but true for me today.



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