I won't go into details but it looks like some crazed, tatooed piercer went nuts with his piercing tool on my abdomen. My bellybutton has three rings decorating its upper rim. And the other stabs? Each has at least two industrialized staples holding the gaping flesh together. The bruising has faded from deep, rich, regal purple to mustard yellow and I've stopped taking pain killers. So, physically, I'm on the mend.
Mentally (or is it emotionally?) I'm still fragile. (Meaning, I've got the post op blues.) I wasn't expecting them. I was anticipating using this week to watch movies/DVD's with friends, reading, going for walks, organizing drawers and closets, hanging with my kids, visiting with my mom, getting my hair done, watching the Olympics, planning my trip to England - you know... have a recovery vacation.
Instead? I've been crying, sleeping, ignoring the ringing phone, having ANTs (according to one of the many shows I've seen, ANTs stands for having an Abundance of Negative Thoughts) and watching an awful lot of HGTV. (And now I really want to redo the interior of my house.) (Maybe something fun and bright and colorful and whimsical and vibrant?) When some folks are down, they crave company. I am the opposite. I just want to be by myself. (Well. That's not totally true. I really really want my kids around. But I get that it's not fair to them, (and they truly have no desire to be around a sad mom) so other than that first night that Clint stayed over, and the second night that Drew stayed here, I've been on my own.
On Sunday afternoon, Sandra kidnapped me for an hour and we went to the beach. I slept for 12 solid hours after that. Being social is exhausting.
1. Praying friends and family.
2. Remote controls.
3. Electronic heating pad. Best invention ever.