Recuperation Complete, Back on My Head, Coffee Break's Over*

So it's been over two weeks since I went in for structural repairs, saw my surgeon on Tuesday last week and he said that I'm healing up nicely. 'Twas then that this conversation ensued...

Your Humble Scribe: "So Doc, I'm planning on going back to work next week, the day after Labor Day."

Doc: "In that case you need to be very, very careful. Continue to wear your abdominal binder. I'll see you again in four weeks."

Abdominal Binder (Source)
(Yeah, I wish I looked this good!)

At that point I wondered, last time I had surgery, I didn't go back to work until after the last time I had seen the doc. I was out nearly two months last year. While it's not that I didn't mind the time off, it's just that when you're recuperating from surgery, it's not like you can do a lot of fun things.

This time, while I still can't sleep worth a damn (more on that in a bit), I feel well enough to go back to the salt mines work. It's not like I have a construction job or anything. Heck, I either sit behind a desk working at a computer, or I sit in the lab, working at a computer. While it will be a pain not to be able to just go lie down when I feel like it, I didn't really want to skirmish with the insurance company again this year.

Truth be told, I'm ready to go back. A good rule of thumb for determining if you're done convalescing is that if you're bored, want to go out and do stuff, and it's not that painful to do so, then you've recuperated enough. I'm there.

Now as to the sleep thing. I sleep on my belly. Having had surgery on my belly, that becomes a "not recommended" kind of thing. It hurts when I do that. I have a great deal of difficulty sleeping on my back. If I do, somehow, manage to fall asleep on my back, I promptly roll onto my stomach, unless it hurts, then I awaken and try (once again) to go back to sleep. Usually without any great success. I've learned to survive by dozing. A few minutes of sleep, on and off, while not exactly restorative, is better than no sleep at all.

The weekend after I had surgery was no fun at all. Couldn't even make my own way to the front door of the hospital, I had to be wheeled out. Seriously, it was that painful. Not sure why they booted me so soon, but I'd rather recuperate at home. The food is better. (And yes, the staff is far more conducive to recovery, they let me sleep and didn't insist on poking and prodding me every few hours. Not that I had other things to do, and my nurses were cute, but I'd rather be at home.)

I'm sure The Missus Herself would have appreciated a few more days of me being cared for by medical professionals. Though I tried very hard to be a good patient, I was not very mobile for the first few days out of the hospital. Couldn't even get out of bed by myself, The Missus Herself had to give me a hand. I'm sure she would have loved to have access to one of these -

U.S. Navy photo by Mass Communication Specialist 3rd Class Jonathan Nelson (Source)

Point is, I am now quite capable of climbing out of bed on my own (not rapidly mind you, I need to kind of think it through, look for the right places to put my hands and avoid straining the abdominal muscles) so The Missus Herself no longer needs to assist. I'm better than I was two weeks ago though I'm not Fully Mission Capable (FMC) just yet. But Partially Mission Capable (PMC) looks better on the report than Not Mission Capable (NMC) which I was for quite a few days. So I'm on the schedule, so to speak.

I've awakened a few times, on my belly. Not in much pain mind you, just enough discomfort to wake me up. I have graduated to sleeping on my side, which is better than nothing. So I'm getting more sleep, just not the quality I care for. But hey, I am sleeping more. And that's a good thing.

So as you're reading this, I am back in action at my place of employment, no heavy lifting and I'm under medical advice to be "very, very careful." But it is what it is, heck it's what they pay me to do. Not lie around collecting disability. I'll leave that to others. Of whom there are far too many.

Oh well.




* Paraphrase from a joke told to me by an old friend.