Day 1: Tonsillectomy, totally uncomplicated. What the hey? I thought they said this was going to hurt? Hahahaaaa- suckers, I’m gonna have so much fun having a week off on sick leave to do all kinds of crazy-fun stuff while eating ice cream on the doctor’s orders. I’m gonna read and watch movies and tidy that messy drawer and perhaps have time to sort and organize the 400 pictures I had developed a year ago and them I’m gonna….
Day 2: What’s that smell? Coming from my mouth? Better check what is going on with a mirror and a flashlight: Aaahhhh AAAAHHHAAAHHHH. “Doctor-friend, hello? Is it supposed to look like slimey mold where the tonsils were? Yes, you say? And that now all I have to do is wait for these (*gag*) SCABS to FALL OFF??”
Day 3: Iuu, iuu, iuu iuu. Ick, ick, icccckkkk. I want to escape my body. Sharp pain beams out to my ears and down into my teeth. My whole cranium hurts like a mofo. No I’m gonna spell that out: My whole cranium hurts like a motherfucker.
Day 4: Aaau? Auu! AAAAUUU! IT HURTS! Drugs, sleep. Ate an apple as carefully as two very old porcupines making love. 8 hours later, I coughed and an apple seed flew out. Jimmy Hoffa – are you in there?
Day 5: Watched Juno. Took the drugs. Slept. Wonder how much weight I lost? Or if I only lost my will to live by now?
Day 6: Read the paper. Slept. Took the drugs. “Doctor-friend, hello? Am I supposed to be so goddamn tired all the time? What’s that you say? Anesthesia can take a while to leave the system? Well, nobody bleedin’ told me that?”
Day 7: Think the scabs are getting ready to fall off. Almost fainted trying to swallow a piece of bread. Literally had to go lie down. If this were Hollywood, I’d need to go into rehab soon due to my addiction to – well, over-the-counter painkillers. Had half a bowl of oatmeal and a bowl of yogurt – all day.
Day 8: Dream of eating very crispy and hot things. Cold, soft food is getting old. Also, look forward to having my sense of taste back. Everything just tastes… distored. Not in a good way.
Day 9: Shaved legs and polished toes (Shade: “Fuck-me-red” (HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA. As if.), thinking of all the other times it worked out for me to “fake it until I make it”. Sat on sofa for an hour afterwards, re-gaining strength. Then wrote this. Now have to go lie down.
Ice cream for lunch. Silver lining.
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Wabbit wecommends outsourcing the children to Bedstemor/Mormor or the first willing relative, donning your ugly t-shirt (to ward off hubby), drawing the blinds and sleeping 24/7 until Monday morning.