And A Big Argh
I had my first major outing today since the surgery that didn't involve seeing Buffy the surgeon.
I voted and ate Chinese food.
And now I'm exhausted. One hour out in Hooterville and I feel like I've been run over by a Mack Truck.
See, today I've been short-tempered and grouchy. My normally active self has been docile for a week and a half. I'm going a bit stir-crazy.
On the other hand, if I do anything more than lift my fork from my plate to my mouth, I'm wiped out. And we aren't talking a little bit disheveled. We are talking dog ass tired.
One thing this has shown me is the absolute courage of people who have long term chronic or terminal illnesses.
I feel like a wuss. One bitchy wuss.
While voting, people were asking how I was after the surgery. I appreciated their concern but being in my hot-headed state of mind, I wanted to scream out "Imagine having somewhere near 15 stitches less than an inch from your crotch and how would you feel, Bub?"
Instead, I said "I'm fine. A bit tired but I'm healing nicely."
The stitches are horrendous and a part of the bladder surgery. They come out next week. I can't help but wonder if the hammock (made out of cadaver pieces parts) is possessed or something. Sort of like the movie "The Hand."
Will I become a nymphomaniac or start sewing little rosettes?
Who knows? I just know that I have a ton of disability paperwork (I bought it last year at work and that was one smart move) and this overwhelming desire to sock someone.
The thing I'm too tired to even ball up a fist.