I am home and relatively able to do things. I am up and around. My kids seem to understand that mom needs rest and (relative) quiet. When I got home from the hospital, my daughter brought me a bowl full of strawberries and asked if we could share them. I was not hungry at all (side effects of the anesthesia I am guessing), but I ate some and let her finish. She sat with me on our big chairs in the front window and watched the front yard for a bit before dinner on the day I got home. It was nice that she wanted to spend time with me. I think she was nervous. Frankly, so was I. Its hard to see your mom at Less Than, and I remember growing up, even though it was rare, that the times my mom was in a Less Than state, it was disconcerting and unsettling.
My daughter has reminded me four times in two days that I am not to move my arms too much. At dinner, she told me I shouldn’t reach for my water and moved it closer to me. My girl. She has repeatedly told me that I will do “normal things once you are healed.” These kids will be ok. Now I’m worried about me. It seems too easy.
I could get out of bed. I could walk. I didn’t have much pain. There didn’t seem to be much to recovery. I had a friend come over on Monday and delivered me a penis cactus (because she knows my humor) and chocolate covered pretzels (because she knows my loves). We sat and chatted on the couch and then went for a walk down the street.
I was sitting at the table waiting for dinner and I sighed and said, "My boobs itch!" and my dad replied, "Well don't itch them because Madonna would never do that!.........I don't know why I said that. It just seemed right." I laughed so hard.
Easy peasy, right?! To be continued....
Recovery II
My kids are gone. First time I’ve been without them for more than two nights. My husband decided to take them to Las Vegas (in summer, yes, I know) and meet his parents. See this way, everyone but me wins, in a way. The kids get a vacation with their grandparents and I get to rest.
My concerns are two-fold, three-fold, infinity-fold. Because I am mom and mom knows what to do in every situation. Mom knows which kid is going to have issues peeing in public bathrooms; which kid is going to refuse to drink when prompted; witch kid is going to test boundaries with bedtime; which kid is going to get homesick and how that is going to look (it wont be obvious).
I thought I would have more time to miss them, but I got sick. Really sick. The nausea was overwhelming. Friends were dropping off ginger, tea and anti-nausea bracelets. I used them all. It was like I was dying. Hot flashes from my head to my stomach. The churning of my bowels and organs. My mother stood by my bed and fed me one cheerio. Then another. Then another. Try dry toast. Gag. Just take one sip of water. I would fall asleep for a few minutes. Take another little sip of water. Sleep. Overwhelming urge to rip my stomach out. No strength. Take one sip of water.
I just had to get the antibiotic pill in my body and make it stay. One more bit of cheerio. Pill down. Breathe.
One cheerio. One tiny sip of water. I am upright. I cannot remember the last time I was able to open my eyes and not feel sick. So sick. One cheerio. One tiny sip of water.
Suck on ginger.
One tiny sip of water.
It was the longest six hours of my life.
Skipping the Tylenol (which was all I took for pain) meant that the soreness all around my incisions and drains was back in full force. I needed to focus on getting those pills in and making them stay down. Applesauce. One tiny sip of water. Pills. Down.
When I was able to sit upright, my mom said, “this was your dip. This is the worst day. Its done now. It gets better from here.” Gosh I hope so.
I called my husband. For those of you who know me, you know this is not normal. He is not necessarily my go-to when it comes to needing to feel well. We do much better on other things, more day-to-day things, more long-term things. I wanted him to tell me that it was going to be ok and that this was just another bump in the road. That taking care of things without more pills and doctors was the right choice. He told me that I should call my doctors immediately. Did I have a fever? Is there an infection? Why are you not calling the doctors instead of me?
Super unhelpful. But I should’ve expected it. Its his reaction to everything. He said it made him feel bad that he wasn’t there to take care of me. Again, not super helpful. And those of you really know me know I am not an easy patient. I am not an easy human. I do not give myself grace. It is who I am. And yes, there has been much reflection on this. I need to hold myself to less standards because I need to recover. It’s the only thing I need to be doing now. Not pointing to my Dad where he can hang pictures (its been on the list for a long time to get done); not pointing to my mom where things can go in the goodwill pile (another thing that’s been on the list for a while); not cleaning out my closet because I wont be able to wear most tops I have (BRAS BE GONE!!).
And my new addiction is tv – not just tv – Jane the Virgin. Its so bad its good. But in a good bad way. And a bad good way. I could watch it for hours. Its like a telenovela about a telenovela. But now I am hooked. But I dare you, judge me. Gotta go see what Jane and her pretty beau, Rafael, are up to.
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