Yesterday I woke up with a neckache and a backache and a jawache. There was some kind of weird effluvia on my pillow and I was in a terrible mood. Not stormy terrible, not the kind of terrible where you call up AT&T to complain about service cutoffs to telephones that don't exist -- terrible as in teary and and panicky, like I was just about to turn on the news and find out my town was most definitely going to be sucked into the center of the earth due to a lack of liquor sacrifices to the Town God.
I watched a woman have a fullon meltdown in the lobby of a hotel and wanted to smack her silly. She was one of those blonde sucked-in too-skinny women close to fifty who always seem to have sequins on them somewwhere; with the shortish yellow madonna hair that screamed she'd been cute all her life and planned to make everyone around her suffer at whim. Then I thought I lost my debit card and called the bank, who refused to send me a new one to my new address because I got my security questions WRONG. I was exhausted. I needed a nap. It was beautiful outside and that just made me cranky.
Then it dawned on me.
I'm sick!
And I was. I went to the clinic and got liquid Keflex for an ear infection that was so bad it had by that time crept into both ears and had turned me into an emotional toddler. I was seriously dehydrated and suddenly understood why my incision was still an incision and not a scar.
No wonder I had been crying all week. By yesterday I had nothing in my head except a black crayon scribble. I had gotten books out of the library and couldn't concentrate through half a chapter.
All of this, I thought, was because I got my stomach cut out less than three weeks ago. But apparently not.
I feel a little better today but my big plan to dive into the pool on Day 21 has been scrapped.
Anyway I guess the moral of the story here is that not everything is attributable to surgery. You can get sick *in addittion* to having no stomach and the results are specacularly miserable. It's hard to know exactly what's normal but I'm thinking the ability to read and comprehend sentences might be a clue.
On antibiotics for ten days. Sill grounded. Eleven days to solid food.
Yesterday I woke up with a neckache and a backache and a jawache. There was some kind of weird effluvia on my pillow and I was in a terrible mood. Not stormy terrible, not the kind of terrible where you call up AT&T to complain about service cutoffs to telephones that don't exist -- terrible as in teary and and panicky, like I was just about to turn on the news and find out my town was most definitely going to be sucked into the center of the earth due to a lack of liquor sacrifices to the Town God.
I watched a woman have a fullon meltdown in the lobby of a hotel and wanted to smack her silly. She was one of those blonde sucked-in too-skinny women close to fifty who always seem to have sequins on them somewwhere; with the shortish yellow madonna hair that screamed she'd been cute all her life and planned to make everyone around her suffer at whim. Then I thought I lost my debit card and called the bank, who refused to send me a new one to my new address because I got my security questions WRONG. I was exhausted. I needed a nap. It was beautiful outside and that just made me cranky.
Then it dawned on me.
I'm sick!
And I was. I went to the clinic and got liquid Keflex for an ear infection that was so bad it had by that time crept into both ears and had turned me into an emotional toddler. I was seriously dehydrated and suddenly understood why my incision was still an incision and not a scar.
No wonder I had been crying all week. By yesterday I had nothing in my head except a black crayon scribble. I had gotten books out of the library and couldn't concentrate through half a chapter.
All of this, I thought, was because I got my stomach cut out less than three weeks ago. But apparently not.
I feel a little better today but my big plan to dive into the pool on Day 21 has been scrapped.
Anyway I guess the moral of the story here is that not everything is attributable to surgery. You can get sick *in addittion* to having no stomach and the results are specacularly miserable. It's hard to know exactly what's normal but I'm thinking the ability to read and comprehend sentences might be a clue.
On antibiotics for ten days. Sill grounded. Eleven days to solid food.
Suck.
Oh...and I lost 25 pounds. So there *is* that.