And I'm not talking about that cool, hip-shaking kind of funk either. This is the down-and-dirty, lie-in-bed-and-wish-for-death, cry-and-feel-like-you'll-never-stop kind of funk. And it's descended upon me.
Both Dr. Zukowski, my surgeon, and Elaine, one of the nurses, warned both me and C that we could expect something like this. A couple weeks into the recovery, and it seems like not much is happening, and things just head south. With rapidity.
Sunday was the worst so far. I woke up looking like a balloon, swollen way beyond what I had been the day before, and felt like I was about 10 or 5000 steps behind where I had been. There were a lot of tears that day. My mom just kept being a mom, and trying to engage me to eat, and trying to generate a little enthusiasm for doing my maintenance stuff. She managed to get me through, and I think I probably just listened to music and twittered and surfed the 'tubes all afternoon. Then Monday when I woke up, the swelling had gone way down, and things seemed to be back on track.
Monday seemed fine. I went to my therapist's office for the first time since late January, with my mother no less. That was a really productive session, I thought, so that day ended on a pretty good note. I was tired from the being out and moving around, but I felt pretty satisfied.
Tuesday was less than fine. Swelling was down further, and the day seemed to start off well. Dinner time rolled around, and I had disintegrated to the point where I had no interest in eating, or doing much of anything other than crying. I ate probably half of what I had been given, and went back to bed, where I proceeded to sleep for about 14 hours.
This morning, once I woke up, things were still not all roses and sunshine. I had an early surgical follow-up call with Dr. Z, and he assured me that everything that's going on, both physically and emotionally, is very very normal. We talked a little about some of the weird tingling and sensations I've been having, and he assured me that they were good signs, that full sensation is slowly coming back to those areas. He also said I could stop the thrice-daily cleaning sessions (yaay!), but reiterated that the thrice-daily massage sessions were still very important (ugh). So the morning was not too bad.
After lunch, which was delicious and I had exactly zero interest in eating, the tears started again. The suggestions of both Dr. Z and Elaine were to do something usual. Well, I thought maybe just lounging around at my apartment might help; other than being at work, that's probably the thing I do most frequently. I could poke with my computers, or marvel at my piles of mail, or watch a video, or something simple and dumb and usual.
I've been at my own house for something less than a half hour since February. That's two and a half weeks. I'm a bit of a homebody, and I get twitchy when I'm not able to be home for a while. Vacations are not especially relaxing for me, simply because I'm not home. And my folks' house, as close as it is, isn't my house any longer.
So I'm blogging from the big computer downstairs, and the clack-tronic Model-M keyboard, and the normal chair, and other than the weird sensations returning to my head, it is helping. It feels astonishingly normal, almost just like any other day off from work. I'm ripping a couple CDs down to MP3s. It's about time for me to massage my face for the afternoon, which isn't quite typical, but I could probably wander upstairs, park myself on the couch in video-watching position, put on a video, do my massaging, and even that might be pretty normal too.
At least the tears have stopped, and don't feel like they're threatening to return.
dead trees give no shelter
2 hours ago