I have fully realized my dependence upon my PC. Nearly three weeks without writing at my desk has left me feeling incomplete. Today is my first day back; my chair is once again comfortable, and I feel more like myself than I have since February 3. I am bionic, at long last.
And now to do something about my hair. I was sent home with a wound-vac, which prevented me from showering. It was whore baths and dry shampoo for two and a half weeks. Around day seven post-op, I had an emotional breakdown because I was dirty. I took the pain like a fucking champ, but to stew in my own flora was maddening. I bawled for over an hour. I was unrecognizable to my husband, Jim; I didn’t so much as whimper before my surgery, so to watch me lose my shit because I could smell my own ass was simply stunning. To be fair, though, I was also sleep deprived. Jim said I wasn’t sleeping because I quit my narcotics cold-turkey. Duh.
I was on oxycodone at the hospital, and I was sent home a script. Oxy ain’t no motherfucking joke, folks. Addicts must be chronically constipated and nauseated. I could never be addicted to narcotics. I felt like barfing all the live long day, and I questioned whether killing the pain was worth the nausea. Or the disorientation. After a few days home, my daughter had my surgeon switch me to hydrocodone, which was much better for me. Still, I put down the hydrocodone within five days. I’ve been successfully treating my pain with Tylenol alone. Because I’m bionic.
I had my staples removed this past Monday, and now my incision itches like beast. My mother took me to my appointment. Afterward, we went to the Olive Garden where we ate pasta, and drank margaritas with two extra shots of Amaretto. My mother observed that we were the only ones drinking alcohol with our meals. Because it was only 11:00 a.m. What. Ever. Before returning home, we stopped at the grocery store. There I was, crossing the parking lot with the aid of a walker, and one of the flighty fucking boys collecting carts asked if I wanted one. “Yeah,” I said. “Just make sure you put it squarely in front of my walker.”
My daughter works at one of the pharmacies in our town. Instead of buying a cane, I borrowed one. Today I am leaving the house with it, all swag ‘n’ shit. Muthafuckas look out!
Now that I’m sleeping comfortably, and moving about more easily, I can honestly say I am happy about my decision to replace my hip. I look forward to riding my bike again, using my elliptical, and washing my feet.
Thank you all for your kind words and thoughts.