Yesterday started with promise, as a friend took me out for coffee to get me out of the house and a bit of airing. Little did I know, it was the calm before the storm—or should I say, the hysterics before the hysterectomy aftermath.
I woke up today feeling like I'd been hit by a truck driven by Murphy's Law himself. My optimism about returning to work was swiftly replaced by the reality of aching everything and a newfound talent for inventing colorful language to describe my discomfort. Who knew a simple cup of joe could lead to such a state?
Forget constipation; my body decided to swing to the opposite extreme, leaving me in a state of tummy turmoil. And to add insult to injury, it seems I've become the proud host of a little something called thrush. Ah, the joys of post-op surprises!
So, here I am, relegated to the couch, contemplating the wisdom of heeding the warnings about lifting heavy objects and not too much moving around.
In hindsight, perhaps I should have paid more attention to the post-op pamphlet instead of treating it like a suggested reading list for insomniacs. Lesson learned: when they say "take it easy," they mean it. And when they mention potential side effects, (Trush) they're not just whispering sweet nothings in your ear.
But fear not, for I shall persevere. Armed with a sense of humor (albeit slightly warped from the pain meds), a plethora of pillows, and a newfound appreciation for the value of rest, I shall conquer this post-op adventure one thrush cream application at a time.
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