I slept on my stomach last night. HALLELUJAH! I slept on some of my softer bits for the first time in 13 days and I wasn't in excrutiating pain. I have never been so happy to be able to roll over since I was probably 4 or 5 months old (I really don't know this- I'm guessing. With no children I can only assume when one begins to roll over.) I hate, loathe, destest, and despise sleeping on my back. I just don't do it. Occasionally sides, but for the most part, I am the Olympic Torch Bearer. Yes, you heard right. Have you ever read those things that analyze the way we sleep and give them funny nicknames? Prior to this surgery I have been on my stomach, usually left arm up under the pillow and left leg up, simulating the torch bearer running towards the glory moment of lighting the flame. The last two weeks has been flat on my back, not moving an inch all night, body subconsciously knowing it would hurt like hell to move, waking up sore and in much need of a back massage.
Well my friends, last night was like the opening ceremonies after four long years. LET THE GAMES BEGIN!
Now that I bring it up, getting out of bed has been amusing and much like an Olympic event. OK, amusing now that I'm not forced to submit to its ridiculousness any longer. With no use of the abs (any of them- and you'd be surprised how much they're connected to everything else in your body), one must flop like a fish from mid-bed to side of bed, using the wall, or whatever else isn't moving as leverage to get where you want to go until you can plant your feet firmly on the ground and propel yourself up in the miraculous and completely ungraceful dismount. The ceremony of it, the 5 minute process of moving a bit, taking some deep lamaze breaths and moving again is a silly, silly, painful proposition. And I feel I should have earned a medal for the daily routines I perfected into a Nadia Comanece-worthy "10".
I have also never been happier to have the weight of my chest off my body for the 8 or 9 hours of slumber I attempt in a given night. My rack, fabulous as it is, is undoubtedly part of the reason I am the torch bearer. I have never felt the weight of my chest, the WEIGHT of it on my ribs, on my abdomen, causing pressure as I have since the surgery. It's a very strange thing. In due time, I'm sure I'll go back to loving and hating my rack for all it represents, but for the last two weeks...not so much.
So I made it back to work yesterday. I started in the morning with a bang, getting more accomplished than I felt I had in the prior two weeks leading up to surgery. It helps of course that I returned to a mountain of work in front of me. That 2 pm time I predicted not long back though was true to its word. I had to leave the office around 2:30. I just had no steam left. Much like I feel now...
What a damn wuss I have turned out to be, hmm?
Well my friends, last night was like the opening ceremonies after four long years. LET THE GAMES BEGIN!
Now that I bring it up, getting out of bed has been amusing and much like an Olympic event. OK, amusing now that I'm not forced to submit to its ridiculousness any longer. With no use of the abs (any of them- and you'd be surprised how much they're connected to everything else in your body), one must flop like a fish from mid-bed to side of bed, using the wall, or whatever else isn't moving as leverage to get where you want to go until you can plant your feet firmly on the ground and propel yourself up in the miraculous and completely ungraceful dismount. The ceremony of it, the 5 minute process of moving a bit, taking some deep lamaze breaths and moving again is a silly, silly, painful proposition. And I feel I should have earned a medal for the daily routines I perfected into a Nadia Comanece-worthy "10".
I have also never been happier to have the weight of my chest off my body for the 8 or 9 hours of slumber I attempt in a given night. My rack, fabulous as it is, is undoubtedly part of the reason I am the torch bearer. I have never felt the weight of my chest, the WEIGHT of it on my ribs, on my abdomen, causing pressure as I have since the surgery. It's a very strange thing. In due time, I'm sure I'll go back to loving and hating my rack for all it represents, but for the last two weeks...not so much.
So I made it back to work yesterday. I started in the morning with a bang, getting more accomplished than I felt I had in the prior two weeks leading up to surgery. It helps of course that I returned to a mountain of work in front of me. That 2 pm time I predicted not long back though was true to its word. I had to leave the office around 2:30. I just had no steam left. Much like I feel now...
What a damn wuss I have turned out to be, hmm?
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