Ah yes, the old "one year ago I had surgery" post. Funny, I just woke up from a dream that I was working behind the cheese counter for really impatient customers and had a really jerky boss. That's one of the things I left behind. I also left behind a lot of entrails. But that's the gross part.
Surgery was the scariest thing I've done so far, and recovering from it the most difficult thing so far. (Knock on wood of course.)
Dudes, those weeks after surgery I was not my self, in sooooo many ways. I was reduced to a child, relying on those around me for help. Gross, I hate help. I had no control over my body and what it wanted to do. I had little control over my brain...I swear that the epidural, morphine, dilaudid and oxycodone had a residual effect on me that lasted for weeks, if not months. If you were one of the few people who saw me in the weeks after surgery: I apologize for showing you an incision that you probably did not want to see. Being reduced to a child, I had no filter. I said crazy things and did things like show you my incision.
In those first few weeks after surgery, I dreamt nearly every night about work. I did not tell the people that work for me that I was going out for surgery when I did. They knew it was a possibility, but I did not tell them the date. One day I was there, and the next day I was not. Those early dreams were me working through my guilt about not telling them. And those dreams were also hopeful dreams about getting back to work.
Of course my body had other plans, and not being able to left 50 pounds made it a challenge to go back. I do have hope of going back, but now my dreams about work are always nightmares. I'm behind the cheese counter and the customers are so so so rude, and I'm so happy that it's just a dream.
In leaving that self behind, I've found another Kristin or two. These Kristins are free for lunch. Some of these Kristins don't mind spending time with family. These Kristins wear nailpolish. I am enjoying these Kristins....
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