For the record, the surgery went very well. The folks at Hopkins took great care of us and my uterus was indeed in need of some housecleaning. We’ll have a post-op appointment in a little over a week, and then we’ll get pathology results that will enlighten us about what everything means. However, since they did a great deal of work in there, the recovery has been unexpectedly difficult. Instead of 2 incisions, we ended up with 4, and I’ll be very pleased to become less aware of my internal organs again. Every day, I feel better than I did the day before, and I’m told that that is what’s important. The improvements are in tiny increments, though, and I’m getting stir crazy.
On the upside, my husband has been spoiling me rotten with attention and milkshakes. I can’t lie, I love having his full attention. What can I say? He’s super cute. I may or may not be milking this a bit.
One of my steri-strips tore off a few days ago, caught on my fingernail as the pants went down. After Stu scraped me off the floor and convinced me that I was NOT seeing straight into my ovary, I recovered the incision with the first thing I could find: A Dora band-aid.
Sidenote: I’m a total wuss. My face changes and drains color like a chameleon, and no amount of willpower can stop it.
Blake saw the Dora band aid this morning and was fascinated. This is the exact position he assumed when he said, “So, I’m sharing my Dora band aids with you now?”
As you can only imagine, Stu has recently acquired a very real and fresh appreciation for the single parents out there. I’ve belly laughed (no small feat) at some of the tasks whose existence he had been completely unaware of. We are both so spoiled by each other that we’re incapable of doing each other’s job. Thank God we have friends who’ve provided meals for us, because I honestly was getting a tad worried for a minute. He’s also just been bored. A Stu without a project is almost no Stu at all. He’s been forbidden to accidentally rip up even one tile in the bathroom that he’s dying to remodel, so he’s been roaming the house, hunting for a low-cost project to occupy his hands. A trip down to the basement proves that he’s found one:
There’s a hole in the wall, Dear Liza.
He’s going to put built-in shelving in the space under the stairs. It’s actually super cool, but I can’t help but laugh at his technique. He knows that if he puts a hole in the wall, there’s no turning back.
I gotta go, my alarm just said I can take another pain pill. See ya in rehab!