Down Day

It's been six days since my surgery. Surgery was Monday. This is Sunday. Six days of adjusting...getting used to things...recuperating...healing...taking it easy...trying not to go completely bat shit crazy.

My spirits up until today have been pretty good. There is, of course, an underlying film of depression that creeps in when one is on any kind of pain medication.  Yesterday the feelings of slight stir-craziness hit me. And then walking Uptown to secure a spot for the parade (that I ultimately didn't stay for) cured me of that.

Today my mom picked me up so I could head to my folks for the bi-weekly family dinner. Is it bi-weekly? Whatever the designation for every other week. Yeah. That thing.

Today was just...off. I can't quite explain it. I broke in to serious sweats throughout the day. I'm not running a fever...just sweating. I want to chop all of my hair off. But there's two reasons I can't. The first is that my daughter will get credit if I wait and let her cut it for class. The second is that I'm not supposed to do any activity that is considered 'overhead.'  Tabletop only. My hands definitely have to go over my head to cut my hair, at least the way I do it.

To be honest, I'm not sure how they expect me to actually wash my hair either. I have devised a ritual that involves walking slowly backward in to the shower stream, but my fingers still creep to the top of my head.  I feel like it's cheating, but I'm not sure how else to do it. The 'no bending/twisting' edict is vague at best.

And not to get too gross here, but...fuck dude. Wiping my ass sucks.

The things we take for granted. And by we, I mean me. The things I took for granted prior to this surgery are ridiculous.  I can't microwave anything. The microwave is above my head. The same holds for the bottles of liquor (which is probably a good thing).

Then there's the whole ass wiping thing. Or even sitting down or standing up. I have gotten much better about doing squats. Since I keep my upper body in the same line when I'm doing a squat, my thinking is that it doesn't technically count as a bend.

But yeah...riding in the car. Less than 3 miles. And I was on edge the whole way there. My mom's not a terrible driver, but I was hyper sensitive to everything. And the no-twisting rule was really fucking with me because that pretty much eliminates my peripheral vision.  It was just...meh. I don't know. I guess I wasn't quite ready for how stressful it turned out to be. I didn't last over there but an hour before I asked them to bring me home.  I feel bad about it, but I'm just off today. I can't quite describe it.  My noon dose of pain meds I decided to try Tylenol instead of the Percocet. Not quite ready for that yet. So, that coupled with the stress of the car...coupled with...well...you get the idea.

My buddy D texted me while I was over at my folks. Wanted to know if I wanted some company. I waved him off. Part of the 'meh' day I think.

And I get it. People are concerned about me. I am thankful to have people in my life who care. I truly am. It's an interesting situation for me, though. When people come over, I feel that I have to be 'the host.' I feel that there is some expectation of what will go down when someone comes over. Like I have to entertain or make sure that they don't think they wasted their time by coming to see me. The further someone is from me distance-wise, the more this comes in to play. Truth be told. I don't feel very entertaining. I don't want to talk about the procedure. I don't want to really talk about the recovery. I don't really want to 'do' anything. My main focus for most of the day is riding the coaster through the med-schedule to make sure that I'm taking what I need to take, when I need to take it to stay ahead of this thing. I can't be on all the time when someone comes over. If you come to visit me...expect that I will doze off in the middle of a conversation. Expect that I will close my eyes. Expect that I will need to stand up every 30 minutes in order to walk around. I don't want to talk. Mostly I just want to be still. Recovery-Todd is not the same as iTod. They are two different people.

That's really the catch-22 of it all. Part of me doesn't want to really be around anyone and the other part of me just wants to know that someone's going to be there when I open my eyes. I know it's kind of fucked up. But what can I say? That's kind of where my head is at.

Speaking of talking...I'm hoping my voice goes back to what was normal for me. For now it feels like a softer timbre. Like Christian Bale's Batman voice whispering crossed with Clint Eastwood. It sounds different in my head. I'm not sure if that's permanent or not. My throat is still sore, so I expect it will be that way until the throat is no longer sore.

It's time for me to get up and stretch my legs...avoid the whole blood clot thing now. So I'll close this little blarp for now.


No comments:

Failing NaNo - 4 Years and Counting

I looked, Dear Readers, and noted that the last time I saw fit to let the words fall from my brain bucket and onto these virtual pages was o...