I try not to be a whiner. It’s never very becoming. I suppose the older I become, I could get by with more of it, but yet . . . . I try to be brave.
Like this surgery thingy, for example. I actually never took any pain meds once I got out of post-op. They hooked me up to a PCA pump and I could have had my share of dilaudid while in the hospital. Since I’ve been home, I could have been on Vicodin, too.
But no . . . . I just got up and walked around my room the first day, then did the hall shuffle each day in the hospital after that.
Since I’ve been home, I’ve felt the fatigue increasing.
Went to the surgeon today, had another little procedure, and talked about recovery time.
Oh?!! No driving for another week? But how do you think I got here today? Um . . . . the fatigue is expected for two weeks? Thank goodness! I thought I was gonna kick the can!
Enough with the ‘bravery’ . . . . I’m taking the drugs and then sleeping off the fatigue til I feel like I’m done whining inside. To heck with walking up and down the block and pretending to be chipper. The pallor in my eyes is not chipper-inducing! I’m gonna shuffle around the house in my jammies and slippers and let the machine take my phone calls.
Bravery . . . . phooey! Gram is just gonna curl up and chill on the couch. Don’t wake me unless my ball of yarn rolls behind the TV . . . ok?
p.s. Here’s the kind of terrible daughter I am. Gr8’s tooth was hurting and I asked her to call for an appointment to have it looked at. I check on her today and she told me she got in this afternoon. I asked her what time her appointment was. She told me 2:30. I snorted laughter immediately and thought of the irony. Gr8 was simpley puzzled. “What did I say?” Gr8 asked me. She’d never heard the dentist joke punchline before: Q: What time is your dental appointment? A: tooth-hurty. Gr8 laughed and decided she would tell them at the clinic when she got there. She’s a good mother. I on the other hand need to work on my daughter role a little bit. . . . Can I blame my “bravery?”