Unfortunately, my body isn't on the same page as my mind. I knew how hard this surgery would be. I knew that it would takes weeks and weeks to heal. Well, I thought I knew. I guess I should say I knew but I hadn't accepted. Which is two totally completely different things.
Today I am 2 weeks+2 days post op. While the pain is much better than it was even a week ago, it is still there. It does subside for periods but just as mysteriously as it disappears, it reappears. I know it is part of the healing process (muscles and nerves healing) but I'm still sad.
Yesterday was a really bad day. I was so miserable. I was so nauseous (I think a good part of that was from not eating). I was hot. Then freezing. Then sweating. I was teary. I was whiny. I asked Steven if I had a fever and when he felt my forehead and said no, I protested. I was certain that as bad as I felt I deserved a fever. I finally took a Phenagran and slept for an hour or so. I woke up feeling much better.
So basically, I'm still laying around and doing a whole lot of nothing. I know that making myself get up and do things won't help anything and will just make things take longer to heal. If I've learned anything having 12 surgeries before, it's that not giving myself time to heal gets me nowhere but in a tearful lump.