Tomorrow is my six week post-op milestone. For anybody who's had a hysterectomy, you know six weeks is the marker the doctors use to tell you when you can get back to your regularly scheduled programming. So, starting tomorrow, I can drive a car, carry stuff heavier than a glass of wine (big whoop), push a grocery cart (bigger whoop), and, um, do other things (whoopie!). Yoga. I'm talking about yoga, people. I was kind of drugged out when I was released from the hospital, but I'm pretty sure the doctor said no housework for a minimum of 12 months, so I will still have some restrictions. Obviously. Tomorrow also marks the forty-fourth anniversary of my birth, so I'm pretty excited that I'll get to go grocery shopping by myself on my birthday. Yes, I'm 44. I joke around that I'm 29, but I think I'm going to start telling people I'm 54, so I can hear that I "look so young" for my age. Hopefully. Anyone? Tap. Tap. Is this thing even on?
I won't tire you with details of my recovery, other than to say it took way longer than I thought it would and I got really sick of resting. It's really quite boring, especially after you've melted your glasses and none of your backups have progressive lenses with which to read by. My family took excellent care of me, and so did my cleaner and my massage lady, who, once she learned that I had a hysterectomy and not "liposuction for my fat belly", spent a lot of time working on my abdomen to help prevent something in portuguese, but I'm pretty sure it's not desirable, because it happened to her sister. Or her brother. Whatever, my portuguese sucks. When I wasn't resting, my lovely friend Katie drove me to important appointments, such as to get manicures and pedicures, and out to lunch, never once making fun of my ever-present yoga pants. So, you could say that my recovery was pretty easy. I know I am beyond lucky to have all the help I do, and despite my
Anyway, from here on out, it'll be all, carrying the laundry basket, wearing pants that don't pull on, and driving to the grocery store. And working. At a job. Yes, you read that right. As soon as I get my security clearance (which should be easy to get as I've been a hermit for the past 10 years), I will be writing and editing the embassy newsletter. For pay! Thank gawd they didn't read this blog before they hired me, although I'm pretty sure I took out most of the F-bombs just in case.
I am going to need some new fucking shoes before I start working, though.