Spilling My Guts

Alright, I didn't spill 'em. But a piece of them that was here last time I posted is gone now.

Last Monday, I woke up at 4AM with horrid abdominal pain, which, after a rushed trip to emergency, an hour and a half of ultrasounds by three different doctors, and a few bags of morphine, turned out to be acute appendicitis. I had surgery the same day and spent the week in and out of sleep, on and off of percocets, tylenol 3s, morphine, gravols, and naproxens, and antibiotics for one post-surgical infection, which had me in and out of the hospital again.

In any case! I've been healing since then. It's a pain in the ass when you're impatient to be a... sickly patient? (That was tragic writing, I apologize. Ridiculous. Yeesh.) So, yeah, here's what I've been doing: Lying on the couch. This includes sleeping, trying to do weakass exercises, pointing and flexing my toes, watching bad TV, reading gossipy magazines, and (again) sleeping. I've sat in the shower. I didn't get to shower for the first four days. I am so unproductive and sad, it's just not right. I feel like an elderly person. I'm embarrased!

However, despite all the suckiness of doing absolutely nothing productive and guilt for missing work and terror of missing school, I have discovered one most excellent thing: my husband is even more darling, sweet, dreamy, wonderful, and awesome than I had suspected before this. He's been a most excellent caretaker.

He's made me laugh so much it hurt when I wanted to weep from the pain. He's coined the Helping Hug, a crafty manoeuvre that helped me get up to standing position when I couldn't by myself. He's held my hand, pushed my hair out of my face, provided me with a big ziploc container to vomit in (and cleaned it afterwards without vomming himself), and set me up in bed so my abdomen would be in the least painful position. He's made me breakfast in bed, sat with me for entire days in the hospital when I was so drugged up I was the least entertaining company evah, and made sure my lip gloss, painkillers, at least one crappy magazine, and water were set out beside me and within my reach wherever I was. I love him!

Truly, I knew he was le best boy evah. But this? This is like level of best boy evah that I didn't really even realize existed. Aw, l'amour.

Between this and the five pounds I'm sure I'll have lost by the time I'm really back on my feet, I guess spilling my guts wasn't so bad after all.