Note, that’s not great expectations. So i had some abdominal surgery (i’m fine, they got the cancer before the bastard developed properly, so we think i’m alright) and i thought cool, i’m alive, and it was all laparoscopic (keyhole surgery x4) so easier on my bod. They kicked me out of hospital just 24 hours after surgery, which was fine, i was high as a kite and thought yes, home! Begin the recovery! And i can finish my editing, maybe even put the books out.
Oh dear. After two weeks of enforced DO NOTHING (enforced by Mr Whatsit, who has been like a recuperation nazi, stopping me from hurting myself, i’m now at the “carefully do tiny things and watch out because you are going to hurt” stage. I can’t lift anything heavier than a kettle (lifting this laptop is beyond my strength). I can close the garage door (thank you gravity), i can’t open it (damn you gravity!). Doesn’t matter, i can’t drive yet anyway. Standing is a short term event, walking likewise.
A new high-seated stool was necessary for the kitchen, or i couldn’t have even made toast. I’ve been more concerned with keeping my bowels moving (we’d like to thank psyllium husk, senna, and an initial diet of mostly fruit) and stopping taking the most awful drug i’ve ever taken – endone, or as it’s known on the street, oxycodone. Disgusting, and nowhere near the fun it’s made out to be.
I came off it as soon as i dared, after only 4 days – i was on anti nausea drugs to stop simply throwing up 24/7. With my doctor’s knowledge, I went back onto the drug most pharmacists get hysterical over, codeine (low dose), and immediately felt better. Within within a few days I even stopped hallucinating from the oxycodone.
Mr Whatsit has been a great help, and i can’t really blame him for the toe. Yeah, middle of the night, i got up, remembered Mr W saying, TAKE YOUR WALKING STICK EVERYWHERE so grabbed it (i was very wobbly on my feet, still am). I made it out of the bedroom, then managed to put my walking stick in front of me, walk into it, and break the middle toe on my right foot.
There was much loud swearing and throwing of walking sticks. Mr Whatsit came to see what was happening and didn’t laugh hardly at all, (and fielded the darn walking stick). The toe was very definitely broken, i could feel the bits grinding together.
On the bright side, i was sick enough that sitting quietly with my foot up was no privation.
Yeah, the books are delayed. Life, it’s a weird place. I suggest you don’t make plans.
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