Lazy

Day Before Yesterday:

The day's activities so far: A shower then a long nap then an errand and a swing through Freddy's drive thru for shared cheese curds and a mini vanilla shake. 

I got in around 1000 steps yesterday, about half of them deliberately, my new walking regimen that has me shuffling slowly back and forth from one end of the house to the other. 

Yesterday:

How are things going around here today? Well,  in case you're wondering about sleep: We were up late, then up in the night, then up again early. So that's how sleep is going. 

We were up early because I had a clinic appointment to make sure that healing is on the right track. It seems to be, so that's good. If only it didn't take almost an hour and a half in the car to get to and home from the clinic.  (They don't do virtual appointments anymore because why would they want to continue something that is so convenient for so many patients? ) I had to renew a couple of scrips as well, so at least that got done. 

We just got home a bit ago and I took some Tylenol and had a slice of Swiss cheese. I had a protein bar on the way home. 

Today:

I seem unable to finish a thought-- or at least a blog entry. Don't know why that is. 

It's early, not quite eight a.m. I'm up to take my morning meds and to eat something.  Dave's sister very kindly sent a box of steaks to aid my recovery and so I've had steak dinners the last two nights.  It's very tasty of course, but somehow a steak dinner doesn't hold me through the night and I end up either eating a midnight snack or waking up very hungry. Last night it was both.  I had some cheese and bread a bit after midnight and woke up just before seven and was very hungry. I have to take meds with food anyway so I had a protein bar and a big glass of soy milk. 

Now that that's taken care of, all I want to do is go back to bed.  I'm trying to be realistic about how much rest I need to heal, but resting as much as I am also feels like I'm just being lazy. 

The Nerve

 How is healing going?  For the most part it's going pretty well.  The open part of the incision is rapidly filling in and coming together an we have stopped using iodine inside the area and just paint a bit along the margins, mostly to appear appease some superstition.

Unfortunately my nerves feel like they are on high alert all the time.  I think in part because of the amount of adhesive (which I have a mild allergic response to) from the constant tape and bandages that are required to keep the open incision and grafts covered as well as the tape that still covers the healing and healed part of the original incision (this is the tape that I just have to wait to fall off on its own). All of it seems to keep my immune system just constantly riled up and there is a constant din of irritation coming from the area. 

Oh, and speaking of nerves, my sciatica has been putting in an appearance as well. So that's been fun. 

Anyway, yesterday was an exhausting day.  It's three and a half weeks since the surgery but I'm still pretty tired (poor Dave is running on fumes). All the activity of the day just put me out of commission.  Not only did I get a shower in (with Dave's help still)  but I also went out with Dave to pick up a grocery order and we got burgers for lunch. Then I prepped and cooked dinner with Dave's help (sautéed zucchini, fried rice with tofu and some spinach that we ended up tossing after I cooked it because it tasted slightly off and I'm not taking any chances). After dinner I napped until it was time again to change my bandages.  By the time we finished it was after midnight and I just went back to bed-- and lay there awake until after two a.m.

I fell asleep and woke from a dream about my little brother. Something in me remembers: It was on this day twenty years ago that I came home for his funeral. 

The Healing Slog

 My therapist emailed to check on me and see if I was ready to resume therapy.  Not a chance.  Every bit of energy I've got right now is going towards rest and healing.  Maybe in a few more weeks when we're not still doing twice a day dressing changes. (And oh yeah, i made an appointment with the wound care clinic.  Their first available appointment for an open surgical wound that was infected? The end of next month. Anything happen before then? Go to the emergency room. 

Welcome to the American healthcare system.)

The surgeon sent the pathology report.  Everything is fine, thankfully.  She removed just under 16 pounds. I can breathe more easily and move around more easily. It's a huge change. 

Otherwise the healing process rolls on, on its own schedule apparently. That means minimal physical activity besides walking, not raising my arms above my head, not lifting anything above 10 pounds.

I'm not going to have that bikini ready body by summer probably. We're all just going to have to live with that disappointment, is what I'm saying to you. 

Today

 It's been a few days since I blogged. Dave and I are both slowly recovering from the feelings of extreme exhaustion that came home with us from Florida. Dave doesn't need to help me in and out of bed which means he can have some unbroken sleep.  (Not for me, though, as I'm often up throughout the night.) Gray Kitty has yet to figure out why he can't climb on my chest for cuddles while I'm laying down. The rest of our home life goes on, only now with twice daily bandage changes and so much more protein. 

The surgeon recommends 100 to 150 grams of protein a day and i struggle to get that on a vegetarian diet, so I finally relented and started eating more meat. We've been home a week and in that time I've eaten my way through two small pot roasts and a whole chicken. It's a lot. Tasty but overwhelming. 

What else is going on today? 

Today is windy, a very typical springtime thing around these parts. 

I haven't had any pain meds today, something i haven't been able to say for three weeks at least.  That means that my pain level is lower today. Yay? 

You Wish

We're home and I'm about one thousand percent more exhausted than when we left Miami. (This I hope is thanks to surgery, a long effing travel day that started at six a.m.--four a.m. home time--(after a night of mediocre sleep at best) and ended at midnight home time (two a.m. Miami time), begging Gray Kitty's forgiveness, cobbling together some kind of dinner out of what was in the freezer (Quorn grounds, frozen mushrooms, frozen spinach, frozen butternut squash and udon sauteed in avocado oil with some soy sauce and umami sauce seasoning), then showering and getting another bandage/dressing change from Dave--this was approaching five a.m., about an hour before we made it to bed--figuring out how to set up the bed with my wedge pillow and then trying it out first in one bed which didn't work and finally in another bed that worked enough, and spending the last day navigating a much larger space than our cramped little hotel room.) 

First, poor Dave for real. He endured all that, yes, sans surgery but having to take on the caregiver role which is daunting, exhausting and relentlesss. He is as, if not more, exhausted than I am, even now, and has since re-taken over care of Gray Kitty from our superstar cat- and housesitter (more on her soon). 

Second, I just took half a Tylenol/codeine tablet and I'm going to be out soon, real soon, but not before another dressing change and it's 1:30 in the morning now--3:30 a.m. Miami time, which I'm sorry to say we are still caught up in. (Why are we exhausted again?) 

Our travel day. Fuck me.

One of the women whose youtube channel I watch is married to a pilot and she posts all kinds of interesting information about travel and airports and while watching one. of her videos, I learned about a program called TSA Cares. (You're already thinking, yeah, right, those dead-eyed drones who make you throw out your mouthwash and take off your shoes care? I don't think so). And it turned out to be the most fucking amazing thing.

How it works is: You fill out an online form 72 hours before you travel saying that you need extra help, say because of a medical condition or because you're traveling with human remains--both described my condition as far as I'm concerned--and then they contact you. They assign a TSA agent to do a bunch of things like in my case to meet us at the security line and take us past the security line and allow us to carry through medically necessary liquids in excess of the farkakte three ounce limit. All that and more magically happened in the barnyard explosion that was the Miami TSA security point--only ONE lane of which was open due to poor staffing--and where people were waiting for a very, very, very long time to get through security. We had an amazing TSA agent who led us through, past all those people, to the front of the line, where our bags were screened and I had a manual pat down from a nice if overworked young woman and my medical kit was examined and they offered to walk us to our gate or find us food (we declined those things) and all of them were so pleasant and kind to us and if you ever have to fly after surgery do this TSA Cares thing because--who fucking knew?--but TSA actually cares.

We had more hours of layovers than we spent in the air. I cried in one airport bathroom when I had to put my oxygen concentrator on the floor instead of on the shelf that was mounted at my shoulder height and would have required me to lift my arms up higher than I'm allowed to following surgery.

And I was just telling Dave what it is like when we fly to see all the people near the gate eyeing my fat ass and thinking to themselves that they hope they don't get cursed by having me next to them in economy taking up all the armrest and half their seat because they clearly think that fat people are scary and gross. I feel a certain way about that. I just do. But then later I get to see those people again as they shuffle past us in our roomy first class seats with our own arm rests and leg room to spare and a flight attendant asking us if we want anything to drink before the flight. And those people who were disgusted thinking they would get stuck next to me are now wishing that they had the seat next to mine, but no, sorry, they get to shuffle to the back of the plane to the cattle car that is economy seating. They get to resent me for a whole new and different reason. I feel a certain way about that, too. I just do.

We're home and I'm exhausted and there's more to come including about our amazing cat and housesitter.