If you've read my blog lately, you know I've been ill. Not so much ill as much as OW FUCK MY STOMACH HURTS and then had surgery. And then had another surgery.
Nothing life threatening. Nothing cataclysmic. Stupid gallbladder and gallstones. Laproscopy and endoscopy procedures = I don't even have a big, gnarly wound.
And yet? I am whipped. I am utterly defeated. I am not being dramatic when I say that this illness and recovery is absolutely depleting my resources of "positivity" and "glass half full" and "I can do this." Not that I generally run real high on the "positivity" stuff to begin with, but still. All I want to do is crawl into bed and not get out. Ever. Again.
Which has me thinking about *real* diseases and *real* illness and how completely and totally ill-equipped I am to deal with any kind of serious slow down in either my professional, personal or family life. I mean, I was in the hospital for 2.5 days and have been home on "light duty" for 2.5 days and my house is a complete STY. My youngest child is ACTING WEIRDer than usual. My husband finally realized that maybe, just maybe, he should take a day off of work to aid in my recovery (after parking me at home, alone, Monday and Tuesday, which I would really love to get indignant about right now, but after 2.5 days in the hospital, the solitude was blissful).
My point is: my life runs on a toxic cocktail mixture of HURRY UP and WE'RE LATE and I'LL DO IT LATER and I'LL REMEMBER WHERE THAT IS and DON'T TOUCH THAT, YOU'LL RUIN MY *SYSTEM.*
Saturday, from the hospital, about to be wheeled into surgery, I am on my Blackberry coordinating with my proofreader how to walk my husband through the steps to send her transcripts from my computer.
Monday, I come home from the hospital at noon, and then am on the phone, coordinating a ride home from school for Carlie (no bus service).
I feel overwhelmed. I feel like this family would fucking disintegrate into microscopic dust if I were not here to keep things running. And while I know this is not *really* true, and that life certainly would go on, it's what *feels* true right now.
I had a post-op follow up today. The doctor, in an effort to cheer me, said, "Don't worry. By summer, this will all be behind you."
SUMMER? DID YOU JUST FUCKING SAY SUMMER? BECAUSE I WAS THINKING I COULD HANDLE THIS SHIT FOR MAYBE TWO MORE WEEKS. NOT UNTIL *SUMMER* OMG.
I am the worst patient ever. God help us all if something really bad ever happens.
PS: Still ahead: some kind of dye injected into my liver to see if there are anymore stones. And if so, some kind of "plunging with wire" (that's the exact medical quote) into my liver to remove them.
PPS: I know it's better than getting your faced ripped off by a chimp. And I'm still thankful that at least it doesn't smell like poo. But I am finding it difficult to pull the plug on my pity party tonight.