I am 10 days post-operation. Life as I knew it (wait for the cliche) has drastically changed. I keep having to check to see if it actually happened or not. My reflection reminds me it is indeed the case.
For those of you who have been under a general anaesthetic, you may remember that you spend at least 10 hours afterwards in an extreme morphine high or balling-your-eyes-out low. I video-called friends in the States, called ex-boyfriends and sent a video to at least 15 of my friends (perhaps I should check they still want to maintain contact!).
I am 10 days into my recovery and my mind is already starting to go a little wild. Born with a hereditary blood disorder, I associate every pain with a blood clot – especially at night – and find myself going into an immediate panic. The chances are slim. But there are still chances.
I was strictly told to keep exercise to a minimum, to lift nothing and to rest. Constantly. I found myself ‘accidentally’ walking 3 miles on Saturday and as a result I felt horrendous for 24 hours. I could barely get off the sofa and for the first time, I had to go and have a nap. I hate naps. They do terrible things to my mental wellbeing. A kettle is apparently out of bounds but I refuse to find my parents every time I want a cup of tea. And rest… well, I have averaged six hours a night my entire life, this operation isn’t suddenly going to change that. Sorry doc, for that you will have to provide something stronger which I will refuse to take anyway.
And on that note, the painkillers caused me to have an allergic reaction 24 hours afterwards so I have totally stopped those. I often think I am invincible just relying on arnica, hot water bottles and the occasional Brufen for the swelling.
Netflix has been completed. Even Amazon Prime is verging the ‘play again’ stage.
I am still able to work (thank god) but I have never been good at doing nothing. I have tried arts and crafts and become frustrated with how terrible I am at painting. I have read two books. I have increased my screen time to six hours a day (mostly Instagram). I have sometimes taken two baths a day. I ate 4 brownies in one sitting.
The good news is that I am not drinking. Not until the day I can go on my first run. And between November 8th and now, I have two weddings and weekends filled with friends coming to stay. Luckily some are pregnant so I don’t feel like I am missing out. It would end up being 55 days in total – the longest I have ever detoxed since… well my first Bacardi Breezer I think.
It will all be worth it. It will. It will.