Helpless
The problem with this whole surgery thing is that although I dreaded the pain (not enough, though – it was definitely worse than even my worst nightmares; even if no one toasted marshmallows over my foot in the operating room), I conveniently neglected to dread how much recovery was going to suck once I finally felt not-so-crappy.
I can’t do ANYTHING. Seriously. And it annoys me. I can’t go fetch a glass of water if I want one. I need help getting into and out of the shower. I can’t even stand in the shower (you should see the awesome red plastic lawn chair in our shower right now – sweet).
I can’t drive. I can’t really even make a sandwich.
I can’t spend 8 hours at work without wanting to saw off my leg.
And, with the sexy boot on (new for Fall!), I can’t even sleep.
The doctor’s office (that I hate with a fiery passion, by the way) says the boot must stay on while sleeping. I say that if there is to be sleeping, there can be no boot. They seem to feel that not sleeping is reasonable. I disagree. I am not the Barenaked Ladies, after all. (I am a lady, of course, but with the boot, I cannot be barenaked!)
I am at work. I want to go home. In order to do so, I would need to call a cab. Or wait for the architect to fetch me in 4.5 hours. My boss does not seem amenable to the idea of me going home early. So, here I am. Uncomfortable. Unshorn (can’t shave legs + can’t wear pants = super sexy Amy). Unfed. Unhappy.
Super, super whiny.
After next Tuesday, hopefully I will be a little less whiny helpless. I should be able to put a little pressure on my heel (in the sexy boot), so that I can at least make myself a sandwich. Or get a glass of water. Or grab my own ice pack.
Hopefully this 50% less whiny more able gazelle will coincide perfectly with the end of the architect’s patience with the fetching & carrying & “can you get me a glass of water, please! oh, and while you’re up….”
Hopefully my three day weekend will help immensely in terms of continued pain management + angry letter composing regarding the post surgery care.
Maybe next week, I’ll come to work and be excited not super emo about it.
Maybe I will figure out how to grow perfectly mixed gin martinis in my garden, with rows & rows of cheese and gourmet meats to accompany it.
Maybe I will the lottery with a lottery ticket that I mysteriously find on the ground.
So many exciting possibilities…..
3.12
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