I’m three weeks, four days post op and I’m not doing too much, I promise. Don’t stress but when a friend saw me this morning, she said I was walking round looking like I’d never had surgery at all.
I was dropping Peanut into school, via a coffee shop to get a wet, dirty chai with almond milk (I’m nothing if not high-maintenance). I shot into see Jules to give her my keep-cup, so she could get my coffee underway while I frogmarched the wee man to his classroom. This went a bit skewiff as she’d had a run on customers, so hadn’t got to making mine by the time I got back to her. Never to mind, as I still got to my 9am appointment on time, mostly because I’d allowed 30 minutes for an 8 minute journey in school traffic.
Before writing this, I had to double-check when I had my surgery because it had settled so well and I feel so great. Hence, the Is that all?! I can’t believe how much better I feel already. I’ve dropped my day time naps now, I had one on Monday and was wide awake that night. My body is healing, my mood has lifted after a dip towards the back end of last week and I have spent the day running errands. I met with Peanut’s psychologist at 9am, had an osteopath appointment at 11am; I went via the library and got some books out. Headed home for lunch, popped into the office and walked home. Collected the wee man for his paediatricians’ appointment.
(His ADD is another blog post for another day.) Tomorrow, Hubs has the car, I’ve got a visit in with a friend in the afternoon, but all I need to do is get Peanut to school and if I need to rest after today – I can.
Last night I shot awake panicking, thinking I’d got my leave wrong. Coincidentally the same friend who saw me whizzing into the coffee shop today was visiting me at lunchtime; she’s my pod-bod as we sit next to each other at work, and she dropped me at the office so I could chat with payroll. Thankfully, I hadn’t stuffed up my dates. Bad dreams begone.
While I was there, I also brought the bluddy cat a new tag for his collar, (for my UK peeps: all cats should be registered in Australia with your local council. This means providing de-sexing and microchipping evidence, paying an annual fee (that goes towards promoting responsible pet ownership) and also your animal having a numbered tag on their collar). Chief Brody lost his collar the other day, which not only scares the bee-jeepers out of you when he lands on the bed when you’re asleep with no bell warning, but also means a new tag from the council incase he’s picked up patrolling the surrounding area.
I walked around the floor a bit saying hello to people and checking in. The pregnant person is glowing and looking fabulous; the person covering my role is doing great; my walking buddy is relaxed and tan from visiting her family in QLD. It was lovely to see people again.
I wish I could articulate the difference in me, I don’t feel bone-tired. I mean I get tired obviously, but I don’t feel like I’m walking through treacle just to function. Surviving on coffee and being in bed at 8:30pm. I’m able to sit up and watch TV with Hubs in the evening. It’s all excitement I tell you. He’s even watched season one of Stranger Things with me.
I know I’m going to go back for my review in a couple of weeks and say “I wish I’d had this done years ago…”