The price of Christmas

Those that know me, know that Christmas is my absolute favourite time of the year, or at least it used to be.

I’ve had chronic pain for 8 years now, and every year a good Christmas seems to come at a price. 

I keep asking Santa for a pain free body, but it seems they’re in short supply.

For me, Christmas is about seeing family and friends, having enough food to sink a ship (that’s just my portion) then maybe have a few too many drinks. 

As I’ve grown up, dishing out the presents massively outweighs the joy of receiving them, but Christmas shopping has become more and more challenging.

Due to my hip condition and having arthritis, most of my parcels come via Amazon and are bought in October/November, so I’m prepared for when some inevitably get lost and then I have time to reorder. 

During December I try to battle the elements, that are Christmas shoppers. Politeness seems to go out the window and unfortunately not everywhere is wheelchair friendly. It would be refreshing if some would shop without starring into their phone and stop banging into me. (Rant over!)

This year I was only 10 weeks post hip operation and to say it’s been even more challenging is quite an understatement.

There’s so much that goes into preparing for Christmas. I miss being a kid and just turning up when the big man’s been or when the food is on the table. 

Even when I turned 18, I only had to worry about the Christmas Eve hangover. 

There’s so much cleaning, prepping, travelling, cooking, wrapping and not to mention card writing. 

10 years ago I’d just be tired, exhausted maybe, but when you have a disability or debilitating medical condition, it can take weeks to recover. You might think I’m exaggerating there, I only wish I was. Flare-ups don’t take any time off for Christmas. 

Three days since our festivities ended and I’m back to using constant ice packs, using two crutches and being stuck in bed with yet more TV and rest, almost every movement is agony. 

The worst thing about my hip condition is that it doesn’t really tell me at the time, just the usual pain. Maybe I’ve just become accustomed to it.   

But a little whisper in my ear, “I think we’ve really overdone it”, wouldn’t have gone a miss. Tell me that you’re planning on punishing me for the rest of the week?!

There is that element of pressure for Christmas to be perfect. I know most of us feel it. 

The perfect meal, the perfect presents, a tidy house, but at what cost does that need to come at? You hear about the money worries, you don’t need to buy all those gifts to have a good Christmas, but what about the exhaustion and agony so many of us go through to have a ‘good one’. 

We’re willing to put on that brave face, trying not to ruin the illusion, even if it’s detrimental to our own health. 

Right now I feel like I’m one week post op again, only there are less painkillers and more expectations that I am ‘better’ or ‘fixed’ now. My body constantly reminds me that I’ve had major surgery, it’s a shame no one else hears it. 

My hip has had a fair amount of bone and tissue removed. It’s not shy towards letting me know the boundaries, but the info’s just a bit slow to the noticeboard