I'm sorry, but I'm laying it all out here. Don't read if you don't want to know the gory details. Seriously.
First of all, I have a new hobby: pooping. Oh, my God. I'm so tired of being in the bathroom. There is a reason for this. I was on massive amounts of intravenous morphine for almost a full week, and a major side effect of this is constipation. I'm not talking about some mild, "Wow, this mundane activity is slightly more challenging than it used to be." I mean everything shut the fuck down completely. In the hospital they filled me with "stool softeners" and laxatives and even those little missile-shaped suppositories that make your bum feel all waxy and melty and...weird. But my body refused to budge.
When Jenny and Nannette brought me home they supplied me with this organic Smooth Move tea that tastes like [squinches up face] black licorice and instructions to drink a cup a day for a week. This stuff is the, ahem, shit. So to speak. It totally works. I think I have uncovered some kind of archaeological poo time capsule. I think there are strata deposited during the Nixon administration down there, and I wasn't even born yet.
What makes it all worse is that it happens when I don't even feel much like sitting up, letting alone anything else. So I lay my head on the sink in the most pathetic and tragic way possible, feeling sorry for myself and wondering how my life ended up in the shitter. (Alright, alright.)
The second thing that I'm crabby about is that my body is like one giant bruise. My belly is full of bruises (not to mention the incisions) from surgery. My arms, hands, and wrists are filled with bruises and scabs from both successful and unsuccessful IV attempts. (And the unsuccessful ones were sooooo much worse.) It just hurts all over, and it's a sad day when pulling a soft, fluffy pillow against you causes you to grunt in pain.
The third thing I will bitch about (I'm nearing the end, I promise) is that every food item that is not Cream of Wheat or saltine crackers makes me positively ill. Turns my stomach. Makes me nauseous. And then makes me have nightmares about whatever food it was I tried to eat (soup, peanut butter, yogurt). Bleck. I find myself having thoughts of, "Well, at least I'll lose a few more pounds." And then I'm furious with myself for thinking such a thing. Not for thinking about losing a few pounds, but at trying to make it a positive thing out of being SICK for God's sake! For being so susceptible to societal and personal pressures about this issue that I would think such a thought at this time. I get pissed and absolutely indignant! Then I feel worn out and lay down and take a nap.
Fuck this shit.
The good news is that I'm not actually lacking anything. I have all that I need: medicine, clean clothes, soft bed, crackers and Cream of Wheat, foolish parrots who are glad to be with me, toilet, toilet paper. (I guess some comforting hugs and hair strokes would be nice. But those are not in my future anymore.) I'm just grumpy and cranky needed to complain a bit.
I hope you aren't sorry you read this far. (And if you are: fuck off!) I'm just kidding. Mostly.
P.S. The class I'm teaching starts tomorrow. Dear God, help me.