Nine days post-op and I feel like writing again, finally. The drugs, man. The drugs. For the pain the doctor prescribed oxy-codone, but that either worked too well or not well enough. It took about an hour for each dose to kick in, which was excrutiating, and then I was flying high for an hour or two. It wore off quickly, though, giving me awful shakes and cold-sweats. This always made me think of Ewan McGregor in Trainspotting, that Iggy Pop song Lust for Life and everything. It wasn’t right for me. They switched me to some other lesser known narcotic pain-killer I’ve been taking, with better results, for over a week. I’m down to one-two pain killers a day from two every four hours.
I’d love to be off the drugs entirely, but in my eagerness to recuperate I think I over did it yesterday. I hobbled up and down the stairs on my crutches several times, and made multiple trips between the kitchen and the couch on crutches as well. At one point I even tried to use a dust pan and brush to clean up some dirt that someone tracked into the house. Hell if I was going to let that just get sread around! The cleaning lady was just here! #momlife. Amirite?!
Anyway, this was over-doing it. So yeah, I am far from being mobile. I woke up sore and stiff and very uncomfortable this morning. Recovery is a slow process.
I am anxious to resume normal mom duties. The kids, at 3 and 4, understand just enough to know not to run for my legs, hop on my lap, or ask to be picked up. But they look a little dejected sometimes, when I tell them I can’t get on the floor to play trucks. I try to give them little jobs to do for me, so they feel helpful. My son refills my water. My daughter brings me dandelions from the yard. Both have drawn several beautiful pictures and cards. They climb up in the bed and we cuddle. Still. I will not soon forget the look of pity and fear on my 3-year-old daughter’s face when she inadvertently saw the staples down the side of my leg the other day. “Oh mommy, you are sick in your leg,” she said, voice filled with emotion. Like a dagger to the heart. My husband and I both reassure them that everything will be fine, and I will be running around with them in no time. Literally.
As for the operation itself, everything went well. I will find out more about the cyst composition and the fibrous dysplasia on Monday, when I have my first post-op appointment with my doctor. She’s going to take out the staples, too, currently located at my hip, thigh, and above the knee where they inserted the bolts to fix the titanium rod. I won’t get to see an image of the new hardware for a few more weeks. I’m so anxious to see it with my own two eyes. My hardware. Bolts and all. If it hasn’t fully sunk in by then, I think the images will seal the deal.
Meanwhile, friends are signing up for races, triathlons. The trail runners are organizing weekend runs in the Fells. I wistfully scroll through the runners in my instagram feed. Soon.