long road to recovery

Through the magic of posts I’d already put up, just waiting for the proper time to post themselves, I was a prolific blogger last week even though the week sucked monkey rocks for me and I hardly knew how to use Benkei.

It’s a process. That’s all.

The good news first – the abscess is gone, the cauterization did the trick, and after six weeks, the incision is finally healing well.

The bad news – well. There was that three day run where I did nothing but throw up. And then that fourth day when I ended up in the hospital for iv fluids and good meds and such, because I was pretty sick by that time. I got home from the hospital, and threw up some more. And then woke up at 3 am that night and spent 7 hours sleeping in the tub. The next two days after that was a sofa-encrusted fog.

Knitting? Hah.

What, exactly, was wrong? I don’t know for sure. I think it was an ulcer. I’ve had them before (a long story for another post!) so I knew the signs. The gramma is convinced it’s the combination of some kind of migrating infection and a virus. The doctor was all, it could be a virus, could be infection, could be ulcer, could be I’m just kicked around easily because of the whole recovery thing. But it didn’t really matter, because I was being kicked and kicked good…. and they were wonderful in doing their best to patch me back together.

Gramma was freaked out at how much morphine they gave me. You are having so much medicine! On an empty stomach! Gramma, it’s through an iv. I feel like crap. That’s why they are giving it to me. But your stomach is empty!

Do not assail the gramma logic.

But dude, if I’d been coherent, I’d have pointed out, how I have a twitchy crampy face and then switched careers and threw up a lot, irritating that crampiness and bleh. I was a 25 cents a ride vibrating motel mattress. I wasn’t about to complain at that point. About getting the meds. I mean, if the gramma said I didn’t look good, I probably really didn’t feel good.

At some point I started fantasizing I was Paris Hilton (SHUT UP! I was addled and highly suggestible!) and I had my own private nurse and doctor and I didn’t have to wait two seconds for my meds at any point. Not because I’m an addict, you understand, but that was some miserable stuff to trudge through. Those seven hours in the tub weren’t because I felt good, that’s for sure.

I hate “ride out” as a phrase, by the by. It implies that all you had to do was close your eyes and scrinch up and it was over! I hate it almost as much as I hate “overcome”. Because I didn’t overcome my surgery crap, I’m getting through it. In whatever increments of time that are necessary. And I didn’t ride out this horrible nasty whatever-it-was. I crawled through it, in the tiniest increments of time possible.

But last week is over. That’s the important thing.

Oh, the hat? I don’t know if any of you remember this from last year? But it’s finally got its official photoshoot! My very first bucket hat. A year later, several washings, frequent abuse, and it still looks great! I love this hat. I love telling people who ask me where I got it, that I made it.