How To Keep A Three Year Old Busy
Step One: Give the kid your camera phone.
Step Two: prepare for a lot of close up ear shots while he is figuring out how it works.
Step Three: Enjoy the grubby faced little photographer in all 63 shots.
Rest
- Anyone want to recommend a good concealer? Holy under eye circles, Batman
I stink at resting. I have the type of brain that doesn’t like to slow down or zone out, and the type of body that will refuse to sleep at night if it sleeps during the day. Add that to two sick kids home for much of the past few days, and a type A personality that can’t stand watching things pile up and I’m going crazy.
Also, I am in pain, because I am doing too much, even though too much happens to be the bare minimum for parenting a three year old. Yes, I have had help. I just haven’t had a full me replacement, or gained the ability to clone myself (if I had one super-power, that would be it), so I’m still doing too much. I’m trying not to. I really am. This picture is from the hour and a half I spent laying down yesterday thinking of all the stuff I could be doing if resting weren’t what I was supposed to be doing.
I am so grateful for the people who have come and taken my kids and picked up some slack around the house; without them I wouldn’t just be annoyed and tired and hurting- I would be sobbing, annoyed out of my mind and totally exhausted and hurting even more. There’s always a worse scenario, right?
I’m also bad at resting because busy is my best coping skill. Tired? Frustrated? Grieving? Depressed? Dust off your boots and get to work! Serve someone else! Go clean something! Make something, help something, DO ANYTHING!
Most of the time, frenetically charging from one thing to another and filling my life so full of tasks and to do lists that I don’t have time to feel any sort of hurt or pain or deep seated frustration works for me. The counsel to “forget yourself and get to work” is sound advice. Many times a case of boredom or simple melancholia can be cured by looking around and seeing what needs doing and doing it. Work is a blessing- serving others serves our own well being. The Savior didn’t just promote loving and serving your fellow man to help others- it was advice given to heal us and make us more complete in the process. Selfish people are not happy people.
That being acknowledged, there needs to be some Mary/Martha balance as well. There was nothing wrong with Martha serving and preparing her home for the guests that came to hear the Master teach. She was accomplishing wonderful things- the little things that make a house a home and make us walk in and feel welcomed and at rest. Someone has to work hard to provide that rest, and Martha’s efforts were a gift to all around her. I love Martha very much.
But Mary’s ability to embrace stillness and partake of the quiet reflection and counsel offered to her, even if it meant the dinner got cold, and the floors were dirty and her sister was peeved with her is also a talent. We need to learn to rest and renew, and we need quiet time alone so we can hear what our bodies and our hearts and the Spirit is trying to tell us. We need that time alone with our thoughts, even when being alone with our thoughts seems like entering dangerous territory. We cannot be healed, changed, or made better without it. Sometimes feeling like you’re falling apart is a good thing, because it means you can give God a chance to put you back together even better than you were before.
Ultimately, (and yes, I am writing this to the convincing of myself, in case you are wondering) it boils down to charity. This quote comes to mind,
“Perhaps the greatest charity comes when we are kind to each other, when we don’t judge or categorize someone else, when we simply give each other the benefit of the doubt or remain quiet. Charity is accepting someone’s differences, weaknesses, and shortcomings; having patience with someone who has let us down; or resisting the impulse to become offended when someone doesn’t handle something the way we might have hoped. Charity is refusing to take advantage of another’s weakness and being willing to forgive someone who has hurt us. Charity is expecting the best of each other.” -Marvin Ashton
It is much easier for me to extend charity to someone else than it is for me to give it to myself, even though I am in dire need of it. I need to be just as patient with myself as I know a good friend would be with me, accepting my weaknesses and shortcomings, patiently refusing to become offended by my own limitations and generously offering time, experience and rest until I can do better.
Charity being a refusal to take advantage of someone else’s weakness rings especially true, because I have felt spiritually and emotionally picked on over the past few months of ups and downs. A wise friend of mine pointed out that Satan loves to hit us when we are down. When we are weakened in any way, he stands a slightly better chance of messing with us, so of course things were going to seem just a bit more difficult and negative, and of course my ability to cope wasn’t going to be as shatterproof as it might typically be. Because he is not a gentleman, and is the fundamental opposite to charity-which, according to the New Testament is the pure love of Christ- he certainly isn’t going to fight fair.
It really is good warfare. A person can be pretty effectively beat if you simply get her to bow to the weapon of discouragement.
I’m so grateful the Savior is always there, extending His loving assistance, charitable to the end, even when we don’t really deserve it. I’m so grateful His is the power to win, and that we can enter into His rest in this life and in the next.
Pinewood Derby
I hated last year’s cub scout pinewood derby. It was our first year and we had no idea what we were doing. And Jonas’ car lost every, single race it was in.
This year, we were ready. Jonas and I built this car- and it was a winner! To top off the cool design, we knew about things like weights and graphite- helpful tools.
Jonas was ready to race!
So were a lot o other people! This was two wards worth of cub scouts racing for the prize!
Everyone was interested, but the little car loving boys like Gabe were the most eager spectators. Notice how Gabe happens to be dressed exactly a like another little towhead? I had a seriously hard time keeping track of my kid that night- I kept going after the wrong boy!
Jonas placed in fourth place and won a cute trophy that President Schmidtlein made for the boys. He felt like a million bucks, going home triumphant- and he is already excited for next year’s derby!
The One Where I Officially Cry Uncle.
It's me with a new haircut- the cute doesn't make up for the uselessness, unfortunately.
My children returned home yesterday at about eight o’clock, courtesy of my friend Lisa who was brave enough to drive all the way from Utah with double her usual amount of kids in the car. Impressive, no?
Gabe threw up all over his car seat when he was less than a mile from home, but seemed ok, albeit a bit smelly. Within minutes of their arrival, I had taken Jonas’ temperature (101.6), heard him cough and sent him out the door to the ER where he was diagnosed with double pneumonia. At 11:40, about the time Chris left the hospital with Jonas, Gabe started throwing up again and spiked a fever just shy of 104 degrees. I am not supposed to be lifting 35lbs of listless toddler, per hysterectomy recovery rules, but when he throws up all over himself and is too weak to voluntarily get out of his puddle of vomit- what do you do? I gently lifted him out of the mess to a clean swath of floor, and visualized positive outcomes where no internal stitches came undone. I did this three times before Chris got home.
Chris got home about thirty minutes later, after I had tried to get Gabe to keep down Gatorade and Motrin (not happening), and after a prayer, Chris put Gabe in the car and went back to the ER. Gabe has a bad ear infection and some viral thing that causes vomit. They got home sometime around three am. Chris was supposed to work all weekend; his shift started in a mere three hours from then, so I was about having a panic attack. Luckily, he managed to get out of it so he could stay home and deal with his health-challenged family.
Between the sleepy, feverish crying and the soul shaking hacking, I woke up quite a few times last night. The finale to that endless chorus of needs was definitely Miss Margaret at 6:30 am. Maggie is known in our family as being the last person to voluntarily get out of bed in the morning. She is an early to bed, late to rise kind of person. Today, however, she was the very first person awake and she was so excited about waking up before everyone else that she came and woke me up so she could share her joy. I. Kid. You. Not. Chica has clearly missed the entire point of being the early bird, which is that you have the whole, quiet house to yourself. She could have raided the Easter candy and stuffed herself silly while playing video games, but nooo, she has to wake me up. To brag.
Over the past few days of alternatively being excited to see my children and freaked out having to try to care for them again, I kept going over this ridiculous scenario in which I just didn’t call any of the kind individuals who had volunteered to help out. I would soldier on, the very model of self sufficiency, making due and being JUST. FINE. OKAY? I would do this because I don’t like to ask for help, and I don’t like feeling needy and even though I am well aware that we all have times when we need to be the helpee and not the helper and people who give help get blessings and blah-blah-feel good-blah. . . (go ahead and roll your eyes at me, I know you want to).
Kind of funny that within just a few hours of getting my kids back that I get a harsh reminder that I am healed enough to take care of approximately just me and absolutely no one else, isn’t it? Running on about five hours of heavily interrupted sleep makes things hurt more and makes me more impatient and snappish in general, and so I have been sore, cranky and emotionally volatile all day. One day of in your face, real life motherhood, and people, I’m toast. I’m dead on my feet. I’m completely wiped out and worthless.
And humbled enough to ask for the help I now fully realize I will need if I expect to survive the next month. Ugh.
If you would like to help me by praying that these kids get hurry up and get healthy, and that Gabe will continue to sleep in his own bed (Gabe has put himself to bed in his own bed two nights in a row people- HOLY COW- this is a certifiable miracle), that would be just great.
I Think Is About Time We Gave Away Some Stuff- Bloghoppin’ With The Nook $150 Grand Prize
Winners have been announced! Check it out at the Nook Blog!
Welcome to the Nook bloghop! I’m the last blog in the line-up, so I’m going to keep my post short and sweet, and down to brass tacks.
Today we’re giving away $150 worth of new scrapbooking goodies- paper, flowers, thickers, stickers, ribbon and more -OH YES-MORE! These will come from a variety of beautiful companies like Petaloo and American Crafts and Cosmo Cricket and My Mind’s Eye and Crate Paper. Many items will be hot off the presses from the latest CHA and many will be perennial favorites and classic embellishments.
Interested? Want an entry? It’s simple.
Anyone can enter. Drop me a comment down there in the comment box.
Feel like two entries might be more helpful? Click that like button at the bottom of this post and share it on facebook, or link to it from your blog and leave me another comment.
And if I happen to be the first blog you’ve stopped by that’s talking about this hop- well, the beginning can be found at the Nook Blog, and there are FIVE other prizes hidden along the list of blogs you will find there!
If you love to scrapbook, you will love checking out the talent on these blogs. And if you love to scrap- then you will also love the beautiful kits I put together for My Scrapbook Nook kits! Go check them out, and send yourself a little present every month with a subscription. We have just a few March kits left (featured above). Anyone who joins now will get a grab bag that coordinates with the upcoming April kit (featuring Story Teller by Crate-pictures coming very soon!)- and that grab bag is worth $55! Grab bags are also available for our subscribers every month at a dramatically discounted rate. This one is going for $10- but they are very limited, and sell out quickly!
If you think you might want a place on the Nook’s design team- then be sure to check out this post on the message board for more information on our up-coming DT call!
This card was made with a past kit from the Nook- one of my old favorites being shared again, since I haven’t done anything too creative lately. Hope you like it!
This bloghop starts Friday morning and closes on Wednesday evening, so hurry quick and get your entries in!
BEST OF LUCK!
Limitations And Lessons
Recovery is all about just moving a little faster every day- and then hitting the wall and doing nothing for a day while you recover from your recovering. At least that is how it is going for me. I slept for a week straight once I got home from the hospital, drifting in and out of pain. Then I spent a week doing very, very little -one major thing per day, counting the minutes between pain pills. Now I can do two things a day, sometimes three. This seems like such an accomplishment.
My house is fairly tidy, and my to do list gets a bit shorter every day. I feel strong and productive, and then I realize that I am functioning in an altered reality, one in which I have no children. This reality has a floor that can be half cleaned in the morning and then totally cleaned in the evening and then just be clean the next day or three. There is no one here to derail my progress, no one is following behind me undoing all that I am doing. And when I look at what I am accomplishing from that perspective- well, I am scared to death to get the kids back because I am no where near strong enough to even begin to keep up with their constant physical, mental and emotional demands.
I got the kids’ rooms in order- total order- the theory being that people like to be in clean rooms, so hopefully they will keep their play and mess and noise confined, and it will be easier to clean up. My pantry is stocked with cans of Spaghetti O’s and ravioli and boxes of mac’ n cheese. The cupboards are loaded with paper plates. I have set things up to be as easy as possible. My expectations are lowered.
I’ve gotten used to the hours and hours of quiet. It will be more draining than usual to hear the questions and bickering and even the screams of laughter. I’ve been mothering for nearly ten years, and I still feel overwhelmed and incompetent in my current state. Chris is fully back to work. I will be begging my friends to take Gabe for a few hours each day for the next month because I know I’m not strong enough to keep up. I can walk around the block once, but if I try twice I get light headed. Parenting a three year old is like running around the block a hundred times every day.
I can go for a trip to Target and I can buy a few items. Taking a three year old. . .well, I can’t lift him into the cart, and I can’t chase him down when he gets belligerent, and I can’t lift him out of the cart and I can’t fight him to get back into his car seat when he doesn’t want to. It is humbling- also unnerving.
I can get frustrated to tears by my typical limitations when I am at full strength. I don’t like how much sleep I require. I don’t like that I can’t always respond as positively as I would like. I get annoyed by headaches and backaches and brain farts.
I think my biggest challenge might simply be keeping a good attitude.
I assume each challenge is supposed to teach me something. Patience is an obvious lesson, but knowing me, it will take a few more lifetimes to accomplish that. I am going to focus on responding positively. I will probably fail, but I’ll get it right an extra time or two if I am at least thinking about it.
I haven’t seen the little bugs in nearly two weeks. It has been blissfully quiet and peaceful, and oh so necessary. It has also been a little sad, and there have been many times where I’ve wanted to share something I’ve noticed with them, and just squeeze them really tight, and kiss them before bed. I had fun going through a few old photos because sometimes I just really needed to see them. These photos are each about two-three years old. My how they grow!
They come home in 48 hours.
That Other Thing They Don’t Mention Much About Hysterectomies
Did you know that when you have a hysterectomy, even one where you leave the ovaries so you don’t get thrown into instant menopause, you still turn into a big hormonal wreck?
It’s true.
And it sucks.
I have been so off the past few weeks. I can’t sleep. I have hot flashes and cold sweats. I have at least ten new pimples. I laid in bed and sobbed for an hour straight at midnight the other night, because I’m just that tired, and that over this whole one-problem-after-another-life I’ve been leading. Add that to feeling totally alone and a little sucker punched by the Universe, and some of this hysterical, snot producing, ugly cry makes sense. Then I wake up in the morning, shaking my head in exasperation, wondering where that strong, sensible, faithful, hopeful person I used to know went, wondering who this new person with her eyes swollen half shut is, and when she’ll leave.
I have seriously considered doing things that are crazy. Maybe I’ll leave my religion. Maybe I’ll get a divorce. Maybe I just don’t care about my family. Maybe I’ll run away. Maybe I’ll go get totally drunk and just see what happens. Maybe I’ll take all those pills at once. Maybe I’ll just give up. We’re talking dark, wild impulses and suggestions that are so fundamentally opposite of who I am and have always been that it is at once terrifying, and yet, thankfully, insane enough for me to spot the hormones at play. What an odd thing to be grateful for. At least I’m ridiculous enough to realize it, eh?
I spent days wrapped up in my brain, fixated on what ifs and changes, afraid by how empowered these hormones made me feel to do all the wrong things- make all the wrong choices.
So I temporarily rescinded my life-altering decision making privileges.
And I shut my mouth to avoid hurting anyone’s feelings.
Apparently, your ovaries can go into shock and just forget to work for awhile or go to work overtime. Add that on top of a pregnancy and a miscarriage all in the space of a few months and well. . .I definitely need to be cut some slack.
The past few weeks have been really hard. But people don’t mention the emotional side of this recovery. They say you might mourn your womb, your childbearing ability, or somehow feel less feminine. They forget to mention the fact that you may, and likely will, feel like you are losing your mind for awhile.
Well, it is true. And it is normal. And they say it passes.
I am feeling a lot more myself now, but the first two weeks were like a trip through the looking glass, into the bell jar all via an upside down roller coaster.
I’m mostly ok now. Happy again with a lot less dramatic swings. But I wanted to put this out there in case someone else felt the same way and needed to know she was ok, and normal, and that it does pass.
(If you are new here, and want the whole story click here: my hysterectomy story).
What It Looks Like
Got new patio furniture garage sale-ing! I'm going to give it a new coat of lacquer, and I've already started washing the cushions. It is going to look brand new by the time I'm done with it! Then I'm going to add flowers, planters and pots and actually like my back patio. Chris and I got home from church on Sunday and crashed out here- it was almost 80 degrees!
Mom and her Daisy Dog. I love Daisy- she is so well trained and sweet and funny. My mom is the dog whisperer. Caesar Milan should watch and learn.
Watson all happy in his kennel. I am not a dog whisperer at all, and this guy still needs to learn to mind his manners. He is slowly getting there. I wish my mom would come back for a month!
Horribly Americanized "fish and chips" that I ate on St. Patty's Day Eve at an Irish pub. Tasted fine, but you expect more from a place called Dublin's, ya know?
Angel Jovibarba heuffelii- one of my absolute favorite plants. Beauty, no?
Watson getting loved on by Chris. I am pretty sure we could wrap Watson's tongue all the way around his head.
I don’t usually like cell phone photos, but I got a new window’s phone and it has some decent capabilities, and a fun photo app, so with my attempts to take more photos, it has been utilized a lot more. This is what it looks like at our house with the kids out of town. The pic of my mom is from when she was here before, but aside from that, it is just me and Chris, and we are enjoying that.
I think we should talk someone into taking our kids for a week or two every year- this has been a good little marriage retreat at home. It is nice to have the time and energy to actually see someone. Usually, I feel like we are just dancing around each other, each juggling our seventeen plates, trying to keep the kids happy and moving forward.
I feel like there is hope for retirement, and we might be ok with all the kids gone. Ha!
My Companion
Watson is my only buddy these days. The kids have gone off to grandma’s house for a two week fun fest (well, for the kids, I’m sure it will be a cardio endurance marathon for the grandparents). Chris’s squadron is having yet another inspection and he got switched to nights for the week, so it’s just been me and my big puppy.
Watson has only learned a few good discipline things, and so this is a bit challenging since I can’t use anything but gentle persuasion on him, being so physically incapacitated. The good news is that he is minding his manners pretty well for a puppy and slowly getting better at a few of his obedience tasks, and gaining baby steps toward emotional control. His sit and stay are very good, and his fetching skills are improving. I had him fetching really well awhile ago, but then he figured out how much fun it was to have the kids chase him to get the toy back, and that totally derailed his progress. I refuse to chase him at all, and he does love having his toy thrown so we are making good progress there this week. We are also trying to improve his desire to come when called. He did great with that at the beginning, but has hit that 6 month boundary pushing stage. I think I just need a pocket full of treats and we will be good.
I actually ran out of training treats, so I may venture out tomorrow if I feel up to it (I’m really drained today) and go to Runnings. They have the best training treats! And I love Farm and Fleet stores, always have.
Watson has been a lucky boy with the kids gone. Since I have very little else to focus on, he has been out more, and almost every time I leave the house, I come back with a new treat. Today he got the big blue toy in his mouth. He loves it!
Watson smelled horrible, and has for a few days now, so this morning I just put him in the shower with me and gave him a scrub down. It was only minimally challenging for me. Trying to wash him bending over the tub while convincing him to stay in the tub would way been way to much physical strain for me, but he is very well behaved in a shower and now he smells like strawberries and happiness, so he is getting cuddled more.
I wish I was stronger so we could leash train, but it is just gong to have to wait a few weeks. We are still enjoying the gorgeous 70 degree weather- I put a chair in the backyard and I just sit there and throw stuff for him to fetch. It is so beautiful outside!
Watson is also great company because every time he hears a strange noise the hair on his back goes up and he gets loud and very defensive. He’s a little scary, but at least I know he’s ready to take anyone out who tries to get me. My childhood springer spaniel, Lizzie, was the same way. Best of fun and friendship, but if anyone threatened me- they got an attack dog in their face. We found this out one day when my younger brother and I were play fighting. He lunged at me and suddenly Lizzie jumped up and bit him in the butt! Not hard, mind you, but hard enough to serve as a very clear warning. It was so out of character that my parents told Bernie to go for me again, and Lizzie had to be restrained from taking him down. It was clear that I was her person. Mom never worried about me going for a walk after that, “Just take Lizzie!”
Lizzie is the reason why we got Watson. He has some big paws to fill. I think he can do it. He’s already got the sad eyes down.
Step Right Up And See The Amazing Hysterectomy Survivor! (And Get An Earful of TMI- Also, A Link To An Actual Photo Of My Actual Uterus!)
Parts one and two should be read first, thanks.
The next day in the hospital my new nurse Sherri took over. I slept most of the day away, just as I had before, but I triumphantly got out of the bed and ate my breakfast in a chair because Sherri made me for my own good. I even combed the rat’s nest out of my hair and brushed my teeth.
I also discovered that despite my best efforts, I could quite literally not pee once I was in to the second half of my anti-inflammatory medication dosing period, because it wore off and left certain parts too swollen to function. I told Sherri that something was not right and a quick ultrasound that showed a very full bladder proved that right. More pressure equaled more pain, so I was pretty stoked to take the next dose of Ibuprofen and get things working again.
Once it kicked in, Sherri was very helpful, both running water in the sink and handing me a copy of the Ladies Home Journal for me to read while I tried really hard to do what used to come pretty naturally to me. This entire situation had me laughing my head off, which was painful, but oh so funny. Nursing! Not just sponge baths and shots; sometimes you get to cheer people on when they pee! As silly as it sounds, I really was grateful. It hurts to not pee!
That night, after sleeping all day, I woke up to another really great nurse, Marietta. She helped me start walking around outside of the room and humored me when I decided to take a shower at 3am. I really liked her; I think we would be friends if we knew each other outside of the hospital. I felt my strength and balance returning at that point, and I had finally kicked the vertigo that had been spinning things in circles every time I dared move.
The next day I got to go home, but not until after my friend, Melissa came to see me and bring me food from Ruby Tuesday. It was sad to see her because when I hugged her goodbye, it was probably the last time I’ll see her because she just moved down South. The great thing about both Melissa and Tanya is that when their friend says, “so, you wanna see my uterus?” They both jump up and say, “YES!” Like of COURSE! How COOL is that? Those are some good friends.
I asked my doctor to put the uterus in a jar for me, but apparently, they needed to send it off to pathology where they would slice and dice and determine if it had any dangerous abnormalities. Dr. Buehner took a picture of it for me instead, and if you would like to see the very womb that once manufactured a Jonas, a Maggie and a Gabriel – well, click here to my flickr page and prepare to understand the KFC comment my doctor made after surgery.
Chris picked me up and the drive home was horrible. I get very, very motion sick on a good day, so being driven home when I was already fighting serious nausea was not a good experience. I learned that I can manage pain or nausea, but I cannot cope with both without wishing I was dead. Obviously, being all cut up inside and feeling every bump made the thought of puking with those muscles sound like a nightmare. When I got home, I went straight to bed.
The next several days passed in a big blur of sleeping, eating just enough so I could take my pain medication, adjust my heating pad, and go back to bed. Somewhere in there, I checked Facebook on my phone a lot and read the Hunger Games books one day, which I didn’t think were all that great. Not bad, just not great either. That was about all I did.
My parents came to visit during this time and they took care of all those things I usually do and then some. It was nice to see them, but I wish I had been a little more conscious to enjoy it. I was really only present for the last two days. My parents brought me the most beautiful silver, Norwegian solje necklace to commemorate my womb. It has a beautiful design of three open spaces and three spoons, the first to represent my three losses, and the second to represent my three children. It is so beautiful, and so special and very, very me. I will have to share a photo sometime.
The very worst part of the entire recovery was dealing with the pain from the incision in the rectum. You do not EVER want to have stitches in there. Now, I was, of course, on three different types of laxatives and stool softeners, but there was still one, completely normal, average sized turd making its way through my body, and when it came time to come out- well- I will sum up roughly 12 hours of intense discomfort with: WORSE THAN NATURAL CHILDBIRTH. MUCH WORSE. And, all you get for hours of sobbing on the toilet, clutching a pillow, and trying not to die is poop. When you push out something that painful, you’d think you’d at least get to name it and give it a christening, but no, I just flushed, took more painkillers and went to bed where I hoped to never poo again.
That complication cased me more pain through this whole ordeal than anything else. The hysterectomy was a piece of cake by comparison.
At about one week post surgical, I woke up and realized I wasn’t in pain. This was great, because I had had timers going off all night to keep me on top of my meds, and I had hardly needed them because the pain usually woke me up before my alarms. Feeling very encouraged, I slipped out of bed and headed to the bathroom when I felt a very bad sensation of warmth running down my legs.
There was blood everywhere.
Understandably, I panicked just a tish, and I started hollering, “Mom! Chris! Mom! Chris! Mom! Chris!” It was six am, and no one was up yet, and there I was, blood dripping all over the bathroom tile, feeling frozen in place and freaked out. I silently assessed the situation, realizing that the blood wasn’t bright red, which is good. I wasn’t light headed, which was good. I also mentally reminded myself that a little blood looks like a lot of blood, and so even if that scene from Carrie at the prom was flashing in my brain, it was really nowhere near that bad.
My poor son was the first one to come running, and I am sure he is scarred for life after seeing his mother half naked with blood everywhere, but he was pretty cool about the whole situation and we had a long talk about it later that day about how sometimes that happens. Egads. Jonas, when you read this in a few years- I am so sorry. Maybe you’ll grow up to be a doctor?
My husband and mother were there shortly and we figured things out, my mother being practical, “It was probably not more than a few tablespoons; it always looks like more than it is!” and my husband being. . .my husband and responding with a lovable and slightly funny over-protectiveness amounting to “we should go to the hospital right now!” I called the Same Day Surgery Center and got to talk to my nurse Sherri, who confirmed with me that it was likely no big deal, and gave me details on what would be a big deal. I spent the rest of the day as a borderline big deal, chatted with my doctor’s office and didn’t worry too much.
The next morning my doctor’s nurse called me back, after having pow wowed with Dr. Buehner and realizing that my surgery had been a bit more exciting than is standard, and that this bleeding could be more problematic than is typical, and I ended up being seen right away.
Dr. Buehner said the bleeding was all from places where that sort of thing is classified as “ok”, so that was really good. I gave him crap about the exam, since he was the one to specifically tell me both verbally and in writing “nothing in the vagina for eight weeks,” and here he was bringing up speculums and the like. We got to chat about how the surgery went and his take on things. I told him I thought he handled a bad situation very well, and I was glad he was capable enough to take on a body that was breaking the standard laws of anatomical correctness. He said I was very nice, and then I said, not really, and told him I would probably always refer to him as my pain in the ass. He then agreed with me that I wasn’t nice, and laughed. Yes, I do get punchy at the OB/GYN. Sorry, Dr. B.
Now I am at the two week mark after the surgery and I am feeling pretty well. I didn’t take any pain medication, narcotic or over the counter today, went out for lunch, bought shoes at Target and even walked around the whole block. That sounds like a lot, until you consider that that was ALL I did ALL day long, not including a nap and several episodes of Friends and hours sitting here playing on the interwebs. Doing almost nothing is completely draining, and it doesn’t take much physical strain for things to ache, so I am just living this slowed down life until I can continue on at my usual breakneck speed.
My parents went home, and my in-laws came and took my children, so it is very, very quiet here. I miss them a bit, but I am loving the quiet and grateful for some time to just heal and focus on myself.
I am getting better.
