T.G.I Feel Good

Well, I had grand plans of blogging my way through my recovery. And then... I got the stomach flu. Let's just say, the past week of my life has been a rather humbling experience. And while it's not technically over yet (the recovery that is) I'm feel so much better. Rather than my leg feeling like there is a raging forest fire going on from my groin to my mid-inner thigh, I am left with only a loud and clamouring ache. And that my friends, is do-able. I have the flu to thank for that.

Because you see, up until Monday night I had barely ventured down the stairs. Because, DANG, hernia surgery sucks! But right before dinner on Monday (thanks to Steve's mom, who arrived Monday morning, I didn't have to prepare) I got really nauseous and could barely stand to see or smell food. I figured I was in with drawl (because I had taken myself off the Vicodin- you know... all 11 of them I had taken since last Thursday.) I took myself off them because they made me *nauseous.* Hmmm... good thing. So I went to bed at 6:30 Monday night and couldn't get warm. Couldn't get comfortable. My whole body ached. I figured I was definitely having with drawl, because after all, I've seen that one episode of Little House on the Prairie where Pa takes Albert away so that he can go through detox from the morphine he'd been on. I am an expert in most areas thanks to Laura Ingalls.

I got up Tuesday morning not exactly refreshed. I rolled down to the couch where Quinn rubbed my back for a while. Steve's mom went to pick Olivia up from school and I fought it hard. She got home and I ran upstairs (ok, so it was more of a hobble) so I could go throw up. And oh the agony of throwing up while trying not to rip the seams of my stitches. I know I couldn't have. But my insides would have argued you something fierce to the contrary.

I slept the rest of the day. Which was a real bummer since my friend Jean brought us dinner... she's a really good cook. I got to have the left overs the next day, but it's never the same. I did manage to keep down a Popsicle. Red since I know you're wondering.

By Wednesday I was ready to get the heck out of the house. We took the kids to the mall where Olivia picked out her first pair of jeans in over 2 years. The end of an era. I sat in the play area with the boys in only mild misery. Mostly thankful to not be barfing.

And its been a steady incline since then. Today... I took on Kroger in a single bound. I also took advantage of Grandma here for one more day and went solo. 'Cause even on a good day I want to curl up in a ball and sob myself to sleep when I have to take the kids with me. Forget 8 days post surgery.

Don't worry, I'm taking it *easy* but I am itching to get back into my normal routine. Isn't it ironic how there are those weeks where all you want to do is lay in bed and have nobody bother you and no responsibilities; and when it happens all you want to do is go scrub a toilet?! It's either irony or stupidity. I'm not sure which one.