Get Used To It
Sunday. Enough of this self pity stuff. The day has dawned bright and sunny (as one expects in California), breakfast has been accomplished in reasonably good spirits (without too much wobble as I walked back to the car), I've bought cat food and the head, albeit fuzzy, is less fuzzy than before. I think. It's hard to parse fuzzy when you're in the middle of it. The writing degenerates into some hopeless thing beyond resuscitation. The pictures don't appear and you get really tired of watching television. Bottom line: I'm creeping closer to being a human again for all the wailing and complaints. Maybe time for a little sake with dinner.
Later. So, reinvigorated as I am, what have I accomplished? A nap after writing the above, just a half hour or so, but refreshing. I'd gotten quite a bit of sleep last night. A Sunday, remember, the weather great, people in t-shirts walking the lake and along the sidewalks. I did get out of the house long enough (taking the car) to buy a celebratory pint of ice cream for dinner to be consumed watching not very entertaining television. Sounds like my last week. And the week before, although they were mostly bereft of ice cream. Still, if most of it's in the head, the head is somehow better and the attitude improving. We'll see the surgeon again tomorrow afternoon with questions in hand (what was it we did again?) and take it from there. Here in April in Oakland.
Monday. Various aches and pains from sleeping on this side or that. Makes me wonder if they don't come from being a cranky old man than any aftereffects of an operation. The blood pressure (standing) 85/59, the weight fifteen pounds lighter than it was the day I entered the hospital. The rain forecast for today has been moved to tomorrow, the temperature projected for the mid seventies. Oh, and I'm tired.
Back from the doctor's office. What did he consider an average time for someone my age to recover? Six weeks before I'm back to something near normal. Three months for the stomach to begin operating in any normal fashion. So. Three more weeks of recovery, some chance of eating a hamburger again in three months. I'm half way through those six weeks and he felt I should feel good about having graduated at this point to tuna fish sandwiches. His exact comment was if he were to take an x-ray of my stomach area right now it would “look like a bomb had gone off” and most of my energy has been devoted to putting it back together. A bomb going off. OK. The body needs time, the stomach will remain swollen as it's healing and it's OK to feel the way I do, get used to it.