One way to use the word patient is in the sense of being willing to wait, being measured and calm in your approach and your timing. Another way, of course, is in the medical sense, as when you are receiving care and your identity, and your role, is one of patient.

And while patient is an absolutely valid word, it is a word, in both contexts, that I struggle (and generally fail) to find room for in my life.

I am recovering from some foot surgery as I write this, surgery that is relatively minor and a short term inconvenience but an uncomfortable inconvenience all the same. I have (had) the same issue with both feet so decided, with the doctor’s slightly bemused consent, to have the corrective surgical procedure on both feet at once. (Yes, impatience definitely in evidence).

Surgery itself went fine and I almost (but not quite) managed not to snap at the post-op nurse who asked her colleague to come into the cubicle so that they could “get her dressed.” I explained that I was more than capable of dressing myself and put my hand out for my clothing, rather than respond to the “it’s protocol” response she gave me.

Now on day two of being home, clomping around in surgical shoes that make me feel as if I suddenly have Frankenstein’s feet, I find that my patience and the real world demands of my healing body, are at odds.

I am ready to go and do and move. I am ready to get out of the house, take the ice packs off, put my shoes on and get back to my whirling dervish version of reality. And, I know that, despite what I want, despite my irritation and frustration with limitations, this is where I am right now.

Maybe it is a good life lesson to slow down, maybe we all have to learn not to fill every available moment with commitments and projects, obligations and deadlines. Maybe we all have to remember to take the time to listen to our bodies, to give healing the respect it is due, to breathe and, yes, to be a “patient” patient. Another lesson to learn, another way to strive to fill our full hearts.