Recovery is going pretty well. I was physically down and out for about a week after the surgery, and now I'm mostly dealing with the post-op fatigue. I've been told to expect at least six weeks of feeling under-energized, and other websites I've read have said that after (semi-)major surgery, it can take a few months or so.
But that's okay. I'm otherwise feeling much better; as I lay in my anesthesia-and-drug-induced fog in post-op, I noticed an immediate difference. The area where my gallbladder had been felt empty -- in a very lovely way. I had no idea I'd been living with that much discomfort all the time. The first few days I looked ashen and like leftovers of death that had been kept in the fridge too long and warmed over a few times too many. And then suddenly I didn't. The first thing I noticed was my skin -- it looked clean, clear and like it was somehow getting nutrients it had been lacking.
I can tell my body is still sorting out having an organ removed, and I think I've even lost some weight already. It's going to take some time before I feel balanced, but with summer coming up, I'll have some lovely time to recuperate. It's just that right now, I'm exhausted.
What I don't understand is how people become addicted to oxycodone, what the surgeon prescribed for me for the days that followed the surgery. It did a spiffy job on removing the pain, but it left me feeling like I had one of those gloppy algae-laden ponds in me and foggier than some of the stuff that floats into the San Francisco Bay. It messed up my natural sleep rhythm, too, which is partly why I'm still so tired, I think.
It also gave me whacked-out dreams. In one I was playing poker with a bright, emerald green, cartoon crocodile wearing sneakers, athletic socks, Wayfarers and was smoking a cigar. In another, I had a long epic dream of searching for the love of my life. I finally found him, and when I went to put my arms around him and kiss him -- I discovered he was made of sushi. Delighted, I began chewing on his chin and eating him.
I woke up craving a platter of sushi, something that stayed with me for several days.
So all is getting well there, in all meanings of the phrase. I spent last Saturday sprucing up my terrace. Given the disaster last year of frying everything I planted, no veggies this year, other than the hanging tomatoes I'll try. Instead, I planted seeds for flowers that tolerate dry heat, given the mini-climate I have out there. I also got two lovely four-foot pink jasmine bushes for $29.99 each at Fred Meyer; the nursery near me charges around $125 for the same thing. I also got a lovely chaise chair and pad to put on one end of the terrace so that the chairs can go on the other. It's going to be really nice out there this summer.
Then began a mini-war with a squirrel I've come to call the Little Trucker (except that rhymes with what I really call him) that seems to think my pots somehow contain magically-appearing nuts. I finally went to Fred Meyer and bought two owl statues to keep the L.F. off my terrace. The trick, however, is placing them where they scare him off, but don't terrify the little birds that come to the seed feeder, or my hummers.
I also came up with the idea of purchasing a Super Soaker to spray him when he sits in the trees outside my apartment and clucks at me when I'm out there reading. However...they can be rather clever and I may find myself with him fighting back. Like last year when I covered my newly-planted pots with clear plastic and he peed on them.
Speaking of water, I had a small fiasco this weekend. Tired of lugging the big watering pots out to my terrace to water the plans, I decided to get a hose and an attachment that goes on my kitchen faucet. After happily using it as I fluffed up and moistened the Winter-hardened soil in the pots, I went into the kitchen to get something to eat...only to find standing water on the floor. Seeping into the dishwasher. In my kitchen drawers. On the counters. Behind the pasta jars.
Had I still been on the oxycodone, I may have seen Noah floating by with small arc stuffed to the gills with animals.
It did make a lovely tinkling sound, however; I adore the sound of running water and I do have two small fountains I run during the summer out on my terrace...but I can do without it in my kitchen, thankyouverymuch.
The hose had come loose and created a thin fountain that had been spurting upwards with great enthusiasm and pleasure for the last hour or so. It took all my towels to sop it up, followed by three days of them hanging up in my pantry to dry out so I could put them in a sack to wash this weekend. Despite the small flood, it was still decidedly easier to water that way than with the pots. I've sorted out a way to keep it from spraying. At least I believe I have.
-- H
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