ICYMI: Eleven days ago, I broke six ribs, punctured a lung and tore cartilage from my sternum in four places in a freak accident involving a moth. Truly.

I am lucky.

I am lucky I incurred this injury in a country with first-class medical facilities and not in a country that struggles to provide basic health care.

I am lucky I do not live alone and I have a husband and three strapping young lads to help me manage.

I am lucky I have extended family and friends who provide support, meals, transport and coffee outings.

I am lucky I have access to medicines that help me get through the day.

I am lucky I do not have a permanent injury and I will make a full recovery.

I am lucky I have the world at my fingertips if I feel the need to reach out or find out or figure out.

I am lucky I have financial security and this injury will not cause hardship.

I am lucky.

I know I am lucky.

I tell myself every day I am lucky.

But I’ll tell you what I am not.

I am not a saint.

I know I am lucky but I still complain, moan, cry, stamp my feet and say “It’s not fair!” every day.

I want to drive myself wherever I want to go.

I want to go back to work and teach my kids.

I want to row on the river in the summer sunrise.

I want to play my ukulele and sing with my friends.

I want to lie in my own bed and roll over.

I want to be able to laugh and cry without pain.

I want my life to go back to ‘normal’.

I am lucky.

I know I am lucky.

But some days it’s hard to remember that.

Dear Family and Friends: I will on occasion in the coming weeks be depressingly whingey and then feel bad about it. Please bear with me.