The Cavalry has arrived, if the cavalry can include grandmothers driving hybrids. Backup is here. I got what every sick person wants, no matter their age: I got my mommy to come help me for a few days.
Getting ready for her arrival, I tried to clean up the areas I've been avoiding for weeks. I did my best, but I didn't get everything tidied up. She knows how little energy I've had, so there was no pressure to do it, but I still tried. By the time she rolled up I was wiped out, just starting to eat some gluten free pizza. I couldn't even stand up to open the door. It took more than an hour for me to perk back up and move around.
I went to my pharmacy to get my post-surgery meds. I assumed they were calling in actual painkillers. They had prescribed 600 mg ibuprofen. WTactualF? First off, the military handed those out like Tic Tacs. We took enough of those in our day that I could drown in gallons of ibuprofen, and it wouldn't knock down pain in the least. Secondly, I take a twice daily prescription NSAID. I am not allowed to take more. If I'm not getting an actual painkiller, just an ineffectual anti-inflammatory, then I'd rather take the ones I've already paid for. Mine don't tear up my kidneys. I understand that there is a lot of political pushback about opiod drugs, and I'm not all that crazy about them, but I'm having half of my breast amputated. I'm not going to play games with pain.
This is the first night I've tried to sleep with my door shut in years. I've already heard Athena's tiny little give-mom-a-guilt-trip voice on the other side. "There appears to have been an error! Someone accidentally shut this door! Surely you don't mean to block access to the bed?" I know it's only going to get worse. By 4 am the cats are going to be slamming into the door with a battering ram.
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