Just a quick update from the surgical ward. It has been a pretty unpleasant, boring few days here at WoolGatherer Central.
I'll spare you the gory details, but I'm still wrapped up snugly in my sexy-sexy compression garments, and most of my torso glows in vibrant shades of purple and yellow. My body is sort of like a swollen, corpulent sunset, if you will.
Darren has taken great care of me, despite my narcotic-fueled demands for him to entertain me by single-handedly performing the entire musical Mama Mia. He's a trooper, that Darren. A Super Trooper. (But he's still missing his cues on Voulez-Vous. We'll have to work on that.)
This afternoon I have my first post-op appointment with the surgeon. I dread the alarming denouement when the bandages come off--I went through hell to look like THAT? (Yes, yes, healing takes time, I know. Still sucks.)
Once I have the surgeon's stamp of approval, I'll finally be able to take a shower. Hurray! This poor old body of my mine has been through a lot since last Thursday morning, and sponge baths of my non-bandaged areas simply aren't cutting it in the hygiene department. As a consequence, I don't feel (or smell) terribly, um, fresh. No, Precious, not fresh at all.
Tomorrow is supposed to be my first day back at work. Given how uncomfortable I am today, it's difficult to imagine lasting all day sitting at my desk. It's hard enough spending time there when I'm not bruised and battered, for Pete's sake.
So, that's the latest on your pal WG. I look and feel like hell, though a slightly better version of hell than yesterday or the day before. One hopes this will be the trend.
Happy MLK to those of you lucky enough (like me) to have the day off.