Saturday I was walking around after surgery, back and forth down the hallway. I thought--wow! This surgery was EASY. The nurse tried to give me some pain medicine to take before I went home and I said, "Nay, Nurse! I'm drug-free!" She called my doctor, who told her I was probably still jacked from some of the pain medicine pumped through my veins during the surgery and strongly advised I take the medicine. I compromised and took one of the recommended two pills, scoffed at the wheelchair, and then starting whistling Dixie, practically skipping to the car.
Then...three hours later...oh god! Oh god! Oh god! "Give me my "Pirin" tablets!" I was screaming like Nathan Lane in The Birdcage.
|"Agador, hand me my Pirin tablets!"|
I took another oxycodone and passed out. And then woke up in the middle of the night, took another pill and proceeded to sleep again. Sunday I started taking halfsies and added ibuprofen and now Monday, I'm on Tylenol and ibuprofen, walking around a bit (45 minutes/mile pace) in my girdle just to try to avoid bed sores and not feel like the half-ton woman who needs to be cut out of her house. It's hard going from 4 hours of exercise a day to not leaving the bed.
But don't worry, friends, it will be several days before I even consider getting back on the bicycle. I have to be able to see my feet first. Right now my belly is so swollen I can only see the tips of my toenails :( I'm wearing this binder around my waist, which makes me feel like I just got a tummy tuck and am waiting for my reveal. Yeah, something like that--except my reveal will bare a tummy with a zipper and now updated bullet holes. I like to think of myself like Clint Eastwood in Pale Rider, with six wounds in my stomach instead of my back.
Gosh, I'm going to be hot when I'm 50. Stay tuned.
Bullet Holes and Zipper