Bidet to You, Too!

So, I wrote this whole post about how I’m almost done with my first course at Harvard, and I think I’m getting an A. I am so excited, proud and just so darn yay-ing over here, that the post was boring. I can hardly believe it’s me when I think about it too much. Bryon keeps telling me it’s obvious. I’m like, “umm, is it?”

 

Well, the post wasn’t boring to me. But, nonetheless. I’m sad for the class to be over, and a bit nervous for Fall semester because I’ll have two classes, and I don’t think I can take my first professor again. She conflicts with another class I have to take, of which there is only one offering. She is the most patient, energetic, kind and knowledgeable person I’ve met in a long time. I had hesitations going into this, and I’m glad I took the risk. The decision was made on a whim one day, but I’m so glad that I didn’t back out.

Not the greatest cat pic of the week, but I think it speaks to the gist of the week…Rachel’s school stuff spread all over the bed, while I work, Bear ignoring it and trying to get a treat, Homer watching in the background (judgmentally).

Not the greatest cat pic of the week, but I think it speaks to the gist of the week…Rachel’s school stuff spread all over the bed, while I work, Bear ignoring it and trying to get a treat, Homer watching in the background (judgmentally).

 

The only good thing about this semester ending, is that you get to be rid of that one student in every class that annoys you. The one who seems to have stumbled their way into the course, but isn’t sure how they got there. Somehow, they manage to continuously show up, driving everyone else crazy with questions totally out of left field, usually syllabus-related, in the middle of lectures. Because it’s an online course, I know I was particularly grateful that, by week four she’d figured out how to use the mute/unmute button when talk. It was a blessing to us all, because someone in her household was fond of using the blender, far more often than is normal for a three-hour period.

 

I’m sure she’s a lovely person in her everyday life. I’m just not sure I’ll miss her in this environment. It’s funny how different environments color your perception of people, isn’t it? Honestly, my favorite part about the online component of this class, is that this particular person has her camera set up in her dining room, and she has all her papers, and miscellaneous books (of which there aren’t any required for this course) organized in piles all over her dining room table, and chairs. So, every time someone talks, or the professor talks, she gets up (from her rocking chair!) walks over to the table, and digs through papers, finds something (I have no idea what!) and is satisfied. Hey, whatever works though, right? To be a fly in her mind, for just a few minutes would be ever-so-fascinating. Truthfully, to be a fly in anyone’s mind would be fascinating.

 

Or…scary. Flies are always getting smacked.

 

Look at me, I said I wasn’t going to keep writing about my class, and then I went and did it again for another full page. Jeesh, I must need to get some of it out! There. I did. When it’s all over with, I’ll give you all the full low-down, and my grade (hopefully, an A, fingers crossed).


See that above….that’s the back to business line!


What I thought about telling you about instead, today, was that we made a weird investment a few weeks ago.

 

Drumroll.

 

A bidet attachment! Bet you didn’t see that coming!  

 

I think it was the third or fourth day after my surgery, and I was whimpering and crying, in pure agony and exhaustion. Bryon didn’t know what to do. When I’m in pure pain, he’s probably at his most adorable, because he wants to help, so badly, but simply can’t. He looks like how I imagine Henny Penny must look, when the sky is falling. He gets a look in his eyes that just screams, “I’ll do ANYTHING! Just tell me!”

 

If that’s not love, I don’t know what is. I fall more in love with him every day, but on those days, it’s double so. He reminds me that he’s always going to be there when it’s tough; but not just there, there. His whole heart is breaking with mine. It’s truly something to have that in your corner, in a marriage.

 

So, as I’m whimpering in the bathroom, because it’s so hard to go to the bathroom with your foot up, and to wipe effectively; I know, it’s a lot to imagine, but bear with me; he says,

“I know I can’t take your pain, but what can I do. I’ll do anything.”

 

Swoon ladies, he’s mine.

 

I feel like this is getting a little too sappy with love-bug-bites about my husband. So, how about I tell you something less than charming about him to even it out? He has to sleep with a massive two-piece mouth-guard, specially fitted to his mouth from the doctor, to keep his jaw in-line to help keep him from snoring. Note that I said help, not keep him from snoring. He still snores. He also uses the snore strips, and lots of swift kicks in the shin from his wife. Either way, it’s not super sexy.

 

I said, “You know what I want? I want a bidet. It’s too hard to wipe right now and get everything.” Gross, I know. It’s not romantic, but when you have been together this long, and he’s sitting on the floor, holding my leg on his shoulder while I poop, the romance is that he’s holding my leg while I poop.

 

Oh! Didn’t I mention, because the stool kind of hurt my ankle, when he could, he’d rush into the bathroom, and hold my foot on his shoulder, regardless of what number I was doing. True love, folks. True love. Devotion, and true love. He’d sit there, even in the middle of the night, as he fell asleep against the wall, while I went to the bathroom, with my leg propped on his shoulder.

 

So, off he went to Home Depot to find a bidet attachment for our toilet. AND, a new toilet seat! When we moved into our house, our master bathroom (which is hideous!) had this weird toilet seat that was about 7/8 the size of the toilet, and slightly crooked. In my bathroom meltdown scene, I also asked for an appropriately-sized, non-crooked toilet seat.

I told you our bathroom was UGLY. This is the entire thing, too. A stall shower, with lemon-yellow tile. The best part is that someone actively chose this, RECENTLY! the tiles are in the basement. The man who owns this house is a single dude, who has no woman to stop him from making bad decisions, clearly. He didn’t replace things like the fixtures and the lighting, which I didn’t take photos of, but imagine 1965, and so old the aren’t even rated for ground fault. Oh, and the best part of the whole bathroom is that there was ONE towel hanger when we moved in. ONE. So, we had to hang a second one, right below it, so we could both have towels to shower with, hence the towel, hanging nearly to the floor, covering the toilet paper dispenser. I can’t reach the one that is above it, because it’s almost the height of the ceiling! This is the weirdest master bathroom that I’ve ever lived in, for sure!  P.S. I know that towel next to my husband’s sink looks dirty. It’s not. I swear. It’s stained. I used it to wipe of a charcoal mask…bad Rachel.  P.P.S. OH! I almost forgot, I am pretty sure the owner must be a smoker, but ONLY smoked in the bedroom, because no matter how many times we wash the walls, the bathroom walls “bleed.” it’s the only way I can describe it. An orange-ish, reddish dripping ick is always dripping down the walls. I’d say our house is haunted, but it’s only the bathroom, and it looks more like filth than anything else. It’s so gross. It seems like it’s something pulled from the paint, or under-layers of paint, when activated by steam, and it’s like old nicotine. It’s…just…gross. We’ve given up cleaning it up more than once a month or so, because it’s just impossible to keep up with!

I told you our bathroom was UGLY. This is the entire thing, too. A stall shower, with lemon-yellow tile. The best part is that someone actively chose this, RECENTLY! the tiles are in the basement. The man who owns this house is a single dude, who has no woman to stop him from making bad decisions, clearly. He didn’t replace things like the fixtures and the lighting, which I didn’t take photos of, but imagine 1965, and so old the aren’t even rated for ground fault. Oh, and the best part of the whole bathroom is that there was ONE towel hanger when we moved in. ONE. So, we had to hang a second one, right below it, so we could both have towels to shower with, hence the towel, hanging nearly to the floor, covering the toilet paper dispenser. I can’t reach the one that is above it, because it’s almost the height of the ceiling! This is the weirdest master bathroom that I’ve ever lived in, for sure!

P.S. I know that towel next to my husband’s sink looks dirty. It’s not. I swear. It’s stained. I used it to wipe of a charcoal mask…bad Rachel.

P.P.S. OH! I almost forgot, I am pretty sure the owner must be a smoker, but ONLY smoked in the bedroom, because no matter how many times we wash the walls, the bathroom walls “bleed.” it’s the only way I can describe it. An orange-ish, reddish dripping ick is always dripping down the walls. I’d say our house is haunted, but it’s only the bathroom, and it looks more like filth than anything else. It’s so gross. It seems like it’s something pulled from the paint, or under-layers of paint, when activated by steam, and it’s like old nicotine. It’s…just…gross. We’ve given up cleaning it up more than once a month or so, because it’s just impossible to keep up with!

 

Mr. Fix-It, fixed it. It has been more glorious than I can even imagine to sit on an appropriately-sized toilet seat. You sort of take those things for granted when they aren’t there!

 

But the bidet! I had read about these things, or seen them advertised, and thought that they seemed kind of neat, but not given them much thought until I was having trouble wiping. Yep, letting it all hang out, details-wise.

Nice and compact….hardly even notice it, and easy to reach, easy to use, and just plain awesome.

Nice and compact….hardly even notice it, and easy to reach, easy to use, and just plain awesome.

 

Oh, my Triscuits and Vegan Cheese! You’ve got to try this out!

I’m living in the south, once again - and once again, not by choice - thought I’d try out being colorful. Go get one. They are amazing! Ours pulls water right from the tank, so the water is cold, which let’s call “refreshing.” But, it has a few settings: some kind of misty shower setting and a more direct spray. You can also adjust the water pressure. Although, even at its fullest pressure, you aren’t going to be spitting it out of your mouth. Get it? It’s quite snazzy for something that went on in under an hour.

 

We learned pretty quickly that toilet paper isn’t enough to dry one’s tushie of the copious amounts of water that a bidet gets on your bootie. And, one of the great reasons to get one is to save a bit of toilet paper. I suggest investing in handful of towels that are expressly for bidet use. The fun part is choosing fun towel patterns that you know will be just for your butt. I found some really absorbent ones on Amazon that were inexpensive. And, they had pretty patterns, likely put on with super-toxic thread, or something terrible.  

The link for the product is here…they are awesome:  Poopie-Butt Towels

The link for the product is here…they are awesome: Poopie-Butt Towels

Since you’ll be drying, in theory, a clean behind, these should remain clean, and only have to be washed when you wash your towels, not creating a hindrance of laundry. It feels weird to share bidet towels, so Bryon and I each have our own. Collin’s on his own with his own bidet-less bathroom; but, since his bathroom looks like the Sunoco station when no one is on cleaning duty, I don’t feel one bit badly about that.

Towels on hooks for Bryon, Rachel and none for little Collin…oh well. if he’s dying to use it, he can. But, he never asks. The one time he did, we practically had to mop the bathroom afterward, as he sprayed the entire room. Not sure how little French kids get the hang of it. Didn’t Mark Twain say something about how bright the kids in France were, that even the little ones could speak French? Something like that is to be said about the bidet then too :)

Towels on hooks for Bryon, Rachel and none for little Collin…oh well. if he’s dying to use it, he can. But, he never asks. The one time he did, we practically had to mop the bathroom afterward, as he sprayed the entire room. Not sure how little French kids get the hang of it. Didn’t Mark Twain say something about how bright the kids in France were, that even the little ones could speak French? Something like that is to be said about the bidet then too :)

 

I’m not going to lie, we’ve each had an incident where we were sure we were all clean and shiny and when we went to pat dry…whoops! Needed to replace the towel. I’m nothing if not honest with you! And, we all know, especially my chronic pain warriors, that if we are on opiates for any length of time, that this thing is going to be a wondrously amazing gift! And…everybody poops! That’s why there are spare towels and detergent in this world. It all works out, “in the end.” Ba-dum-bum!

Because we rent, we obviously don’t put a lot of, or any, permanent, changes into a home, so we couldn’t do anything super spiffy. But, this works perfectly, and we get to take it with us when we leave! We take our shower heads with us too! Something about rentals screams shitty shower heads! Why? Why wouldn’t you put a decent shower head in a house? The kind that you can take down and do a decent spray and wash with? I will never understand this. The longer we are in, the more I look forward to our forever home…which I know is still many years out. Still, the list of things I imagine for it is expanding by the mile! Now, Bidet is added to that list..even if it’s tank attached.

Pain Management: Lifesavers

I kept falling asleep while I wrote this…and when I tried to proofread it, the same thing happened. So, oh well! It is what it is.

Remember how I mentioned pain management last time? How I said I’d had to call, almost immediately after surgery to say, “Yo, this medication isn’t cutting it, can I take more?” And then, I had to go see them, again, to say, basically the same thing?

Being bed-bound has its advantages. Look at my companion. Like the cats, he never leaves my side. He thinks that the headphones make him look like an official “gamer,” and he made me take his photo.

Being bed-bound has its advantages. Look at my companion. Like the cats, he never leaves my side. He thinks that the headphones make him look like an official “gamer,” and he made me take his photo.

 

Well, I had to call again. It still wasn’t strong enough. I was told to take a different combo of the same meds, at a different time. Because of the amount of meds this would require, I needed a refill almost immediately. I know, I know, it sounds like I might be a giant baby. Or, I am craving my Dilaudid and Oxy combo, and becoming some kind of fiend. Or, the most likely scenario, the whimpers and sobbing that came out of me, as the meds wore off, are indicative that the medication is both not strong enough, and not lasting long enough.

 

So, now I was on visit/call number FOUR, to pain management. This time, I was scheduled to see the actual doctor, not her PA. This was the big time. I was both afraid, and excited. I was afraid, because I knew I had to tell her that I’d been taking one extra pill per dosing period. I knew that was important for her to know, so she could dose me properly, when she adjusted meds; but, this was the first time I’d ever taken more medication than I was prescribed. To put that in perspective, I’ve been on opiates of some kind since 2014. In five years, I’d never taken a single extra pill. That’s how brutally painful this surgery has been. So, this scared me, because I was afraid she’d think I was taking them for the wrong reasons. In reality, if I didn’t take them, I was shaking in pain. I was excited too though, because I thought that she might be able to help me. There is nothing, nothing, nothing that will ever shake my optimism about seeing a doctor when I’m truly sick. I continue, perhaps blindly, to believe deeply in the curative power of the white coat, and the deep humanitarian desire to help others that they all share.

 

Doing homework, with my judgemental pal. He helps me do well, otherwise he has an opinion about it.

Doing homework, with my judgemental pal. He helps me do well, otherwise he has an opinion about it.

Sitting in the waiting room was brutal. I’d gotten close to my dose time while we were sitting there, so I was in agony. It isn’t that I couldn’t take my meds while I was at the doctor; they have water, and I packed my pills. It was that I couldn’t take them for another hour or so; I was only close to my dose time. Close means my meds had worn off, and I was suffering. The worst part was that we had sat there, patiently, for forty-five minutes past our appointment time, before we asked the front desk if something had gone wrong.

 

They, of course, said I was next, and I’d be called momentarily. You could see them scrambling behind that little window. Someone had clearly misplaced my chart. I’d never have been called, had Bryon not gone to the front desk and asked about me. They called me back, almost immediately…to what amounted to a spare stock room, not an exam room. Sure, I was next. It was absolutely planned this way. Except that the tech that called me back profusely apologized for misplacing my chart and causing the whole thing. I do love when people apologize for messing up when they are in a face-to-face customer service industry, it makes all of the difference in the world. I was immediately no longer frustrated.

Loki’s opinion of my homework is far less strict. He feels that as long as I do my best, he’s cool with it.

Loki’s opinion of my homework is far less strict. He feels that as long as I do my best, he’s cool with it.

 

Anyway, when the doctor came in, a doctor who I’ve never met, yet who is the doctor I’m billed under every time, this is how the beginning of our conversation went:

Now that Bryon has gone back to work. Collin is my day nurse. I usually don’t wake him up until the God forsaken hour of 10 am. But, even then, it’s too early for him, and he comes dragging into my bed for these precious snuggles. I had to break my leg for this, but it might have been worth it.

Now that Bryon has gone back to work. Collin is my day nurse. I usually don’t wake him up until the God forsaken hour of 10 am. But, even then, it’s too early for him, and he comes dragging into my bed for these precious snuggles. I had to break my leg for this, but it might have been worth it.

 

R: I don’t know you. (yep, this is how I greeted her). I mean--sorry. Probably should’ve said something else, it’s just that I have been seeing someone else. Maybe---

 

Dr: Probably Diana?

 

R: Yes! Diana!

 

Dr: Don’t worry. I oversee all my patients. I’ve read your chart from top to bottom and I just reviewed it now. I see your meds are fucked up for this. Tell me about your surgery. It looks like hell.

 

R: (Shocked pause….then told her about the surgery).

 

Mew is enjoying my convalescence as well. He spends a lot of his day hiding under the bed, so now that there is someone IN the bed that he hides under, he is quite pleased to have a visitor.

Mew is enjoying my convalescence as well. He spends a lot of his day hiding under the bed, so now that there is someone IN the bed that he hides under, he is quite pleased to have a visitor.

I thought I would never find a doctor I loved as much as Doctor W in California, but she’s quickly becoming a close second. She swore, so goddamn much, I was impressed. I’ve never seen a doctor behave like that. But, It wasn’t he swearing that I liked, it was the matter-of-fact way that she dealt with my situation.

 

More homework. This is my general plan-ish for my big paper. It took me days to come up with this plan/idea that looks like a mess. Going to start working on it this weekend and see if it falls flat.

More homework. This is my general plan-ish for my big paper. It took me days to come up with this plan/idea that looks like a mess. Going to start working on it this weekend and see if it falls flat.

When I told her that I was taking an extra pill at every dose, she wasn’t mad, she didn’t judge me; she said she was glad I told her because she needed that info for her math to figure out how to plan to dosing for what she wanted to prescribe next. She was pissed that her staff of PA’s didn’t think of putting me on a long-lasting opiate, instead of short-acting ones, that work, but have the nasty tendency to provide peaks and valleys of pain relief and absence of pain relief for patients in acute pain.

 

More joyous cats who are happy I’m in bed.

More joyous cats who are happy I’m in bed.

I told her that I’d specifically asked for an extended-release opiate when I came in, before my surgery, and we discussed the plan for pain relief. The doctor got angry when she heard that. A few “F-bombs” were dropped. I explained that, based on my brain surgeries, I knew that had been what worked the best for me, for serious surgeries; so, it was my best guess here.

 

Now, four weeks in, I was up to 80 mg of oxycodone, and 16 mg of Dilaudid a day. That is an insane amount of opiates. It was enough to be getting dangerous, especially when combined. The worst part was that I was still in pain, despite the massive amount of drugs I was taking. It seems impossible, but I was. I could kiss my doctor for telling me that it wasn’t, and that it was perfectly reasonable to be in this kind of pain with short acting meds, after this kind of operation.

 

She scribbled on a piece of paper for several minutes doing all kinds of complicated math. She mumbled half addition and multiplication problems randomly, drew arrows all over my intake page, crossed-out, and finally came up with an answer. She prescribed an extended-release opiate, in the 36 mg dose, which happens to be the largest it comes in (the pharmacy had to order it). I take it twice a day (every 12 hours). Additionally, she prescribed a short acting opiate for breakthrough pain that I’m allowed to take up to three times a day. Viola, a plan that should work.

A rare sight: all three cats in the bed, in close proximity to one another. Homer hates Mew, and Mew harasses Homer. It’s all very social dynamics of cats, in real time, developing. I’m always reprimanding them, and giving them serious lectures about how to treat our friends. They don’t listen.

A rare sight: all three cats in the bed, in close proximity to one another. Homer hates Mew, and Mew harasses Homer. It’s all very social dynamics of cats, in real time, developing. I’m always reprimanding them, and giving them serious lectures about how to treat our friends. They don’t listen.

 

She ended the appointment with this:

 

“You call here if there is a shitstorm, and we’ll fix it. This amount of pain is unacceptable. Un-accept-able. We’ll get through this. Together. I promise.”

 

There’s no way of explaining how awesome it is to feel like your doctor is totally on your team. I felt like I could pick up the phone, at any time, call, and say, “it still hurts, help,” and she’d drop everything to call in something new. I needed that feeling, right then, after struggling for so many weeks.

 

So far, for the last few days though, I think we may have found the right balance. The problem will be that getting off the extended release opiates is a different story than getting off short acting opiates. It is a whole different animal, and a pain in the ass. I’ve done it before, and I can do it again, but ugh. All I can say is that at least it’s not Fentanyl.

 

Alas, this is where we are at, at the moment. I’m finally on extended release opiates, and I just started PT, which is brutal. I cried yesterday, but she didn’t stop. I think she liked watching me writhe. I am still taking my Harvard class, and kicking ass in it. Yeah, that’s right, broken leg and all, I’m doing awesome. Nothing brings me more joy than school. I’m crazy, I think. I wish we had class every day. I can’t wait for next semester, when I have two classes. It will be a dream!

 

I am up to being encouraged to bear 25 lbs. on my broken leg, which doesn’t sound like much, but the goal is to be off the crutches in about a month. So, between the exercises that PT has me doing at home, the massages that they want me to do, and just regular aches and pains of healing, my leg is giving me a run for my money. Thank goodness for new pain meds, and a pain management doctor who cares about pending shit storms.

Fulkerson Recovery, So Far: By the Numbers

It’s hard to talk about this surgery’s recovery without simply breaking down into racking sobs, complaining endlessly, or considering amputation. So, I thought I’d just give you a run-down of a few “by the numbers” factoids, instead of a rambling essay about how damn much it hurts, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

My nurses, making sure i get lots of rest.

My nurses, making sure i get lots of rest.

So, in no particular order…


Weeks, to the day, since surgery: 3

 

Times pain management has had to adjust (increase) pain meds, because the pain had caused uncontrollable shaking: 2

 

Seasons of “My Big Fat American Gypsy Wedding” I’ve watched since surgery: 6 (side note: amount of guilt or shame I’ve felt for watching total trash television is absolutely zilch, nada, zip)



Showers I’ve managed to take, in total, in three weeks: 4 (I say “I,” but it’s a “we” process, because it requires massive assistance from Bryon. It takes about an hour from start to finish, and leaves me exhausted for about two hours afterward)

 

Blood clots I’ve managed to accumulate: 2

 

 “Dangerous” blood clots: 0

My third nurse, who tends to alienate himself from the other two, or from combinations of the other two, at any given time. He’s kind of a jerk, frankly. But, he likes me, only me, and can be awfully sweet, when he wants to be. And, he’s awfully cute.

My third nurse, who tends to alienate himself from the other two, or from combinations of the other two, at any given time. He’s kind of a jerk, frankly. But, he likes me, only me, and can be awfully sweet, when he wants to be. And, he’s awfully cute.

 

Amount I’ve learned about blood clots: Lots. Apparently, you can have blood clots in the soft tissue, not just in the vein. And, they can be huge, as I’ve also learned. Soft tissue blood clots still hurt like a motherfucker, but aren’t dangerous. Eventually, they break up, and re-absorb, but in the meantime, they are intensely painful, especially to the touch.

 

Upper Respiratory Infections: 1 (Always have to thank the kiddos for bringing home colds at the most inconvenient times)

 

Average number of times I get up to pee per night thanks to extra fluid intake: 4 (again, “I” = “we.” Bryon is a damn hero. He holds my leg up while I pee, so I don’t have to try to lift it myself, to a stool, in the middle of the night. Seriously, Bryon=Hero).

 

Pillow arrangements we have tried to “get” comfortable and/or elevate: 5,049,789

 

Hours a day I’m supposed to use the torture leg extender machine: 6

 

Torture leg machines that have broken so, far, and have had to be replaced: 2

 

Birthdays that I have had during recovery: 1

 

Years on this planet: 41

 

Years I thought I had on this planet: 42

Diamonds!! The float freely inside the face, and they are so pretty! The hands and numbers are actually sapphire blue, as are the little nubbins on the side, called cabochons. The whole thing is just so pretty I can hardly believe it. It’s possible I love jewelry. I’m not sure.

Diamonds!! The float freely inside the face, and they are so pretty! The hands and numbers are actually sapphire blue, as are the little nubbins on the side, called cabochons. The whole thing is just so pretty I can hardly believe it. It’s possible I love jewelry. I’m not sure.

 

Present I bought for myself for my birthday: my first Chopard (yeah, I know it’s not a number, but it cost a bunch of numbers, and it made me happy when I wasn’t feeling so happy. Just pricing it, shopping for it, and negotiating for it, kept me alert and happy for several days. I love it. It adds to my fancy watch collection, and it is glorious. It’s pre-owned, so I got a good deal from an awesome jeweler, which made it affordable. It looks great with jammies. – P.S. Bryon gets nervous when I say things like “my ‘first’ Chopard.” I wonder why?).

 

Days I spent on my last homework assignment: 2

 

Weeks left of the semester: 6

 

Weeks left until I’m allowed to bear any weight: 6 (again: the timing of my first class with this surgery is the absolute worst…but I’m pressing on. Collin told me, the other day, unsolicited, “Mommy, I’m proud of you.” It was singularly, one of the greatest moments of my life. I’m holding that memory in my heart as fuel for the rest of my career, and life).

This is the strap that goes around my leg for the leg torture machine. Collin felt that it made a good hat. I think he looks dashing.

This is the strap that goes around my leg for the leg torture machine. Collin felt that it made a good hat. I think he looks dashing.

 

Bags of frozen squishy pockets I’ve eaten (other people call them pot stickers): 14? Maybe more? I love them.

 

Bouquets of flowers, and new potted flowering plants Bryon has filled my room with: 6

 

Naps I take throughout the day: 2-10 (long vs short 10 min-ish)

 

Nice bruise on the side of my foot, just because it felt like appearing there. It actually hurts too. The best part of this photo is that the striped fabric under my foot is a DRESS! I wasn’t wearing jammies that day. I was dressed, wearing jewelry, and had combed my hair.

Nice bruise on the side of my foot, just because it felt like appearing there. It actually hurts too. The best part of this photo is that the striped fabric under my foot is a DRESS! I wasn’t wearing jammies that day. I was dressed, wearing jewelry, and had combed my hair.

Bruises that continue to pop up, randomly: indeterminable (new one on my foot last week, and more on the back of my knee – they can continue to pop of from my foot to the top of my thigh for the next six months. Pretty).

 

This is the back of my leg. If you are wondering whether this a  bruise that looks worse than it feels, it isn’t. It looks just as bad as it feels. It’s horrendous both ways.

This is the back of my leg. If you are wondering whether this a bruise that looks worse than it feels, it isn’t. It looks just as bad as it feels. It’s horrendous both ways.

Overall, this experience has been, and continues to be, rougher than I had expected it to be. I start physical therapy next week, which promises to be another step towards healing, but also to be painful. Thankfully, my mother-in-law will be taking me to my first appointment, and there is no greater comfort than her at an appointment like that. My orthopedic surgeon promised that I should expect a few steps backward when they start their work, but also that by the time this is all over with, I will be so happy I did it. We shall see! I am still optimistic, and despite my tendency toward depression, especially when I’m stuck in invalid positions, I’ve actually been feeling really great, mentally. I am making a conscious effort to hang onto that positive attitude, and focus on recovery, at the same time.