I am headed to bed in short order. Maybe even to wake up before the appointed hour of noon... Oh, who am I kidding, I'll lie there until some silly moron comes onto the Internet screamingly wrong. SOMEONE WILL BE WRONG ON THE INTERNET!!!1!! I must fight them.
MGH is where I got fixed, but home is where I'll heal. And let me be clear: it's great to finally be home.
But based on the first 24 hours of home rehab, I'm reminded of the things that the hospital does get right. First, the beds. No heavenly mattresses, pillowtops, memory foam, or other nifty comfort features. The mattresses are encased in utilitarian, sweat-inducing plastic. But they are dead easy to get into and out of -- and if you need help, there are plenty of people around who understand that it's about leverage not force. Second, the outfits. OK, no fashion awards here, but everything's ridiculously loose -- when I finally graduated to pants, they must have been size 60 -- so they offer easy access when nature calls.And nature was calling pretty regularly last night -- in an effort, I think, to make up for the little white lie we told the cardiologist about how much fluid I'd still retained. Every 90 min or so, starting around 10, I had to get up, waddle down to the toilet, wiggle out of my PJ bottoms and underwear, and execute a series of mighty pisses -- in volumes I hadn't delivered in 35 years. It was weirdly comforting to know that I was still capable of pissing like that. But it made for a painful night for me and an exhausting one for Lori, who got out of bed to accompany me on these trips down memory lane. By the time, I got back into bed, my chest would be throbbing and my whole body wracked with shudders until I could settle things down and get back to sleep. On the other hand, when morning finally arrived, I lost about six pounds of fluid (mostly urine but also a lot of sweat), and I'm now within spitting distance of my pre-op weight. So I guess I have to say that the first night home was a bit of a challenge. Today, I vowed to pace myself better. Yesterday, I insisted on going for a walk outside as soon as we got home from the hospital. Big mistake; I barely made it back. Today, I've confined myself to laps of the living room. And I spent a lot of time plopped in the recliner in the family room watching back episodes of Weeds -- not intellectually uplifting stuff, but probably precisely the level of activity and challenge I needed today. It's clear to me now -- though I've been told it over and over -- that understanding your limitations and staying just below them is the best way to heal. Sometimes, you have to overdo it to discover those limitations. But then you've got to be able to recognize what happened and dial it back. Thankfully, I can usually do that -- and when I can't, Lori steps in. That's enough heavy homespun philosophy for now. On the docket in the coming days: my wild Percocet dreams and the Jackson Pollock knockoff that is now my body.Thanks for reading this far.One of my professors talked about how using a certain pen that you love can help with creativity. The way I just said it, it seems stupid, but it does have some merit. I haven't been able to find a single pen I really like until yesterday. I was sitting in class, sun shining through a window right onto my desk. I had a Bic Cristal pen in my hand and realized when I twisted the pen, it had a disco ball effect. It was awesome! I found the perfect pen for me. Aside from the awesome prismation, it writes very well, doesn't break easily (a plus for me), and a pack of ten only costs a dollar!
One of my favorite movie effects, when Dick Van Dyke makes his pants penguin-y in Mary Poppins:
Does anybody actually keep a diary with the intent for it to never be read?
Classical music, when understood, is a great source of entertainment. I just bought Handel's Messiah (2 Disc) performed by the London Philharmonic for like $3 on Amazon MP3. I'm really glad I took a music appreciation class this semester.
The day of the week doesn't matter to me because I'm just as busy on weekends.
I think I'm going to be getting two pet turtles (ones that swim) soon. They're a big responsibility though. They live fifty years. I'll get two so they don't have to be lonely.
I better get to bed.
You should make a hand-turkey for Thanksgiving. I made one. I'll post a picture soon! GLITTER!!!
"No one ever died from sleeping in an unmade bed. I have known mothers who remake the bed after their children do it because there is a wrinkle in the spread or the blanket is on crooked. This is sick."
— Erma Bombeck
With finals over, I have had absolutely no homework. I don't even have anything to procrastinate, now that I've already taken my 52 Weeks picture. It's like I'm just existing. My purpose in life is school (as silly at that may sound) and this transition between semesters feel like such a standstill in time. I've been on Flickr and playing Spore for 48 hours. Who knew I couldn't wait for a weekend to be over?
Photo by Ana Santos
Just trying to express myself, my feelings, my moods, my loves and friendships, through photography.
photo by juliette
So last night I decided to skip the dream feed and go to bed early, Cole on the other hand had other plans. He woke at a 11 p.m. and sucked back the entire bottle. At 4:30 he awoke again, however when I looked at the clock I swore it was only 2 a.m. and tucked him back in, only realizing it was 4:30 when I returned to my nice warm bed. At that point I decided to see if he would go back to sleep or not and guess what he did!!! Then I was laying there thinking, oh no he'll be up at 6 a.m. looking for a bottle, and 20 minutes later I was asleep, briefly woke at 6 a.m. to say goodbye to my husband and then at 6:45 or so was awaken by the sounds that only Cole can make.
